


As You Were

by the_dala



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Crossover, Demonic Possession, F/M, Horror, M/M, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-18
Updated: 2015-05-20
Packaged: 2018-03-31 05:34:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 23,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3966295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_dala/pseuds/the_dala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Something wicked this way comes, and it is far too interested in James Norrington.</p><p>("PIrates of the Caribbean" fusion with "Buffy the Vampire Slayer")</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published September 2004
> 
> This is more of a fusion with the universe of "Buffy the Vampire Slayer" than a true crossover, since no actual BtVS characters appear and familiarity is not required to understand the plot. If you do happen to be a Buffy fan, the slayer is inspired by Buffy as she appears in "The Wish." The image for her Watcher is Paul Bettany.

The Bride was crowded and Jack was becoming bored with it. The rum was as good as always, but he could do without the people tripping over his stuck-out feet and sprawling across his little table.

He scowled at the latest, a giggling woman smelling of opium, and pulled his hat down over his eyes. She flashed large green eyes at him, causing Jack to forget where he was at that particular moment. He let his chair drop back down on all its legs, words of apology and entreaty on his tongue.

Then the woman came closer, sucking in a breath so her breasts heaved beneath her low-cut bodice. Her smile showed him crooked teeth. “What ye doin’ all by yer onesies here, eh?”

Jack let the familiar color go and remembered himself. His scowl deepened. “None o' your business. Go ply your trade elsewheres.”

Shrugging, the woman withdrew her hand from his knee and flounced off. Jack fixed his eyes on her backside with a bleak sigh. Even if he’d been in the mood for company tonight, those eyes would have stayed his hand.

“Goddamn commodore,” he muttered, taking another pull on his bottle. “‘S all his fault.”

He looked back up at the room and waited for the edges of his vision to solidify. He’d accomplished the first few parts of his plan: get out of Port Royal as fast as the _Pearl_ could sail, tuck himself away in a corner, drink until his eyes were weeping rum, _not_ think about James and his bloody pride and the girl he’d dined and danced with at the governor’s ball...

Scraping his thumbnail against the glass, Jack bit hard on his tongue to stop the fuzzy, cyclical thoughts from taking him over once more. Best he carry out the final part: find a willing fellow to fuck senseless so he’d be able to sleep instead of staring at the ceiling and thinking about James in his dress uniform with his lovely long fingers wrapped around some strumpet's waist...

Jack cleared his throat loudly, earning himself a suspicious glance from his nearest neighbors. He blinked a few times to clear the haze from his eyes and went back to trawling for his quarry.

Too tall, over there. Too old, that one by the bar. This bloke coming in the door looked nice enough, but he’d a girl on his arm. The one by the far wall – his dark tail of hair was too familiar for Jack’s liking.

Here now, what was this?

He slit his eyes at the slender blond a few yards to his left. The boy was young, no more than twenty, and he had his back to the wall as he too scanned the tavern’s patrons. His hair tumbled in damp-looking curls over his ears, his lips were full and sensual, and his kohl-lined eyes, when they met Jack’s, widened in curiosity.

They were blue.

Jack lifted the bottle to his mouth, holding the boy’s gaze as his tongue flicked out to catch a few drops on the rim. He let a slow, predatory grin overtake his face and slid his hand down the bottle’s cool glass neck.

Heat flashed in the boy’s eyes and he looked down, a parody of modesty, before giving Jack a nod.

Jack drained the last of the rum, giddy triumph singing through the alcohol in his head. James who?

 

 

 

In his dreams, James searched for Jack.

It didn't seem to matter that they were in the midst of an argument when last he’d seen Jack in reality. He could remember this fact, but it was at the edge of his mind as he stumbled through a rocky, barren landscape. The urgency of his mission was a steady beat behind his eyelids, in his veins. He had to find Jack, because his _Pearl_ was in danger. The thought of him suffering that loss again was not one James could bear.

And there was something following him.

He did not know what it was, other than a shape dissipating like mist whenever he turned his head to catch sight of it. Neither was he sure if it was pursuing him, or Jack, or the ship, or some agenda of its own that merely coincided with his fumbling path. So far it had done nothing to threaten him; yet he feared it, and the way it seemed to know its way around when he was utterly lost.

“Jack,” he said in the barest of whispers, wary of drawing the thing’s attention. He thought the wind stilled for a moment, as if it listened. He put a hand on a boulder, panting in the thin atmosphere. No pirate captain answered his summons.

But he felt the thing move closer.

He didn't dare stir, didn't even open his eyes. It was near him now, near enough to touch, and it did – but instead of a solid limb, he felt a spectral tendril of consciousness touching him, probing him, reaching beneath his skin. It wasn't painful, but it was wrong, wrong, wrong –

James began to scream.

 

 

 

“Who is James?”

“– an’ doesn't even have th’ decency t’ lie – what?”

The man smiled at him, his full mouth curving sensuously. “You've been prattlin' on about this James since we got out here.”

“Have I?” Jack blinked, rubbing at one temple. He stroked his other hand along the stranger’s neck. “Must be your skin. Pale as milk, like – like my Jamie –” His breathing hitched as the man spun them with surprising force, pressing his shoulders back against the alley wall. His knee worked between Jack’s legs, rubbing against his crotch, and even as Jack groaned and threw his head back, shame gnawed at him.

He shook his head, making the trinkets rattle. “Apologies, mate,” he said to the man who was now lipping gently at his bared neck. “‘M afraid I've gone an’ gotten meself chained to just one man, who’ll be none too happy if he finds somebody else’s marks when next we met.”

The man’s head came up. Jack had had too much to drink to be able to process all of it at once – the fingers tightening around his wrists to pin him to the wall, the glint in the yellowed eyes, the bony ridges on the waxy face, the teeth coming to vicious points behind open lips.

“Rest easy, sailor,” the thing said, for it was human no longer, “the marks will be few.” Its eyes flashed with hunger as it descended upon him again.

Jack struggled as he hadn't needed to in a long while. He gained no ground; what had seemed soft and frail in the tavern’s light was now a weight he couldn't shift. He cried an alarm, but this was Tortuga, so it died useless upon his lips as the creature sank long fangs into the flesh of his neck.

He jerked at the sharpness of the pain, then gasped low and long as it receded into a dull, throbbing pressure. What little emotion he could touch beyond the red haze was suffused with indignant anger. Was the infamous Captain Jack Sparrow to go out like this, sucked dry by some hellish fiend in a dark corner? Christ, it would be so _embarrassing_.

Abruptly the teeth were ripped out, tearing his skin. The unnaturally strong body followed, leaving Jack free to press a sleeve to his wound. He tried to take a step forward and staggered, falling back against the wall instead. The sounds of a scuffle met his ears, but by the time he was able to raise his heavy lids, it was already over.

He found himself staring at a slender figure with pale hair. At first he thought it a man, because she held a stick by her head like a weapon and she was wearing breeches, but her hair was secured in a braid longer and thicker than any man’s he’d ever seen, and the rough-spun top she wore flared out over her hips.

The reason as to why he was currently ruining one of his best shirts had fallen to its knees, only its elbows visible behind the girl’s form. A sound made Jack’s nose crinkle – it was akin to the wind in a fierce squall, with something like a child's scream in it, yet it was quiet enough that he could barely hear it over his own labored breathing.

When a tall man ducked out of the tavern and the girl turned to face him, there was nothing before her on the ground.

The man took a pocketwatch from his waistcoat and nodded. His face was shadowed so that Jack couldn't see his features properly, although the girl was visible in the moonlight. Young, pretty if a bit hard-faced, with a wicked scar slicing her mouth on the right side.

“Impressive,” said the man in a light, pleasant voice. He snapped the watch closed. “Though you might have saved this poor fellow some distress if you hadn't waited so long.”

The girl shrugged, dropping the stick she’d held aloft. “I wanted to be sure. Remember New Orleans?” From her tone Jack could immediately tell she was not the type to mince words, nor to waste them.

He made some sort of throat-clearing sound, wincing at the pain in his neck. The wound was still dripping blood. He pulled his hand away and gazed down at it.

“Oh,” he said faintly to his crimson-stained sleeve, aware of the two newcomers turning to him. “That’s a bloody shame, that is.” He managed to grin at his own pun before he passed out.

 

 

 

James woke up on the floor, body aching and head pounding. Automatically he groped for Jack, who was the most likely cause of both conditions, but the room was empty save for himself.

He rubbed bleary eyes, fumbling several times before he managed to disentangle himself from the bedclothes. Water from the side table quenched his dry throat, though it did nothing for the faint trembling in his hands, or the clammy feeling of his nightshirt twisted around his body.

When he had washed up and dressed, he found his breakfast waiting for him downstairs, as well as a maidservant with an odd fearful expression on her face.

“Is something amiss, Mary?” The eggs were fresh, but they tasted like ash in his mouth. His stomach rebelled at the thought of the hot tea.

Mary looked at him curiously. “I’d thought to ask you that, sir, the way ye was shoutin’ last night.”

He realized he was crumbling his roll into small bits and unclenched his fingers. “I was?”

“Aye, sir.” Her eyes shifted uncomfortably across the table. “I thought o’ wakin’ ye, but...”

The knife clattered on on the plate. “Ah, yes, of course, I can understand why you might hesitate.” Jack was still needling him about that time he’d abducted a willing James from his afternoon duties and they had forgotten to lock the door.

The thought made him frown and pick at his food. It simply wasn't fair that Jack always got to have the last word, that he could storm out and leave James to his uninspiring daily routine. At times he felt almost jealous of the ship that could give Jack the one thing he couldn't, as well as being able to bear him away. He had a harbor of his own, but his ships answered to the Crown rather than the beckon of the horizon or the whim of a mad captain.

In the throes of brooding, he realized Mary was still studying him. “Sure you're quite all right, sir?”

“Yes,” said James, giving her a tight smile. “Yes, I’m fine, Mary, thank you.” The dismissal was evident in his tone, polite though it was, so she nodded and left.

He raised a hand to his face and ran his fingers over his lips, the sole reminder of a childhood nail-biting habit. If he had been dreaming – and he must have been – he remembered none of it. No doubt it had been bred by troubled thoughts of Jack after their less than amicable parting. The twinge in his muscles was already fading, and it should be a simple thing to put the nighttime worry out of his mind.

It should have been a simple thing, but it proved quite the opposite.

 

 

 

It stayed with the man throughout the day, watching closely. It had been conscious of him for some time, but till now had failed to reach out. When it did, it found a strength of mind far surpassing its suspicions – and as its nature was highly suspicious, that was quite notable. He was young, and healthy, and as content as someone with his intelligence and self-awareness was ever likely to be. This would mean a difficult fight, but it was not averse to the idea, for the victory would be all the sweeter for the struggle and it loved victory best of all. Well, it could not really be said to love any more than it was possessive of a form. But if it could have loved, it would have loved its own triumphs, and if it had a form, it would be that of a man.

This man.

This man who had left behind the place that birthed him, who had bent the seas to his will, this man who was beloved of many, but most importantly of one: the one to whom She belonged.

It did not yet have the force to seek out the other man and thus Her (because where he was, She would be).

But it would, and soon, and neither man nor beast would stop it.


	2. Chapter 2

“So what you’re telling me,” said Jack, very slowly and very clearly, “is ‘at there’s real good and real evil in this world, that the thing what attacked me last night was the evil, and that you’re part o’ the good?”

His breakfast companions nodded, he eagerly at being understood, she with a overly patient sigh.

“I realize it might be a difficult concept to grasp, but –” the man began, sweeping fingers through his short-cropped sandy hair.

Jack shrugged, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back in his chair. “Not so much’s you’d think.” He lifted his chin proudly. “I've fought off undead pirates and been one meself, mate, albeit for just a brief spell.”

“Really?” Interest lit in his blue-gray eyes. "Are you by any chance referring to the treasure of la Isla de Muerte?”

“Why, the very same, on my honor as a pirate.”

The man glanced at the girl slouched beside him, who did not seem to share his enthusiasm. “Claire, isn't that remarkable? We've heard of it, but thought it a mere myth,” he said, turning back to Jack and slanting his lean torso over the edge of the table. “If you would share the tale with me so that I might transcribe it, I would be much obliged."

Always happy to spin a yarn, especially if it happened to have its roots in truth, Jack opened his mouth to begin, but the girl straightened in her seat.

“Another time,” she said in a crisp voice.

The man shot her a vaguely hurt look. “The council has need of first-hand reports, especially in this region – you know that as well as I.”

“I do,” she replied, “but I've a feeling this one’ll talk our ears off and our purses out of our pockets if we let him.”

Jack held a hand over his heart with an expression of insulted dignity, though he had in fact already assessed that she carried no money (though she was bristling with weapons) and he had very little. “I’m shocked that you would think so, Mistress Claire! After you saved me life an’ all, not to mention keeping watched over me for the night. I’d never disrespect your generosity so.”

She raised a skeptical brow, eyes raking him from hat to boots. “If you say so, Mister...what did you say your name was again?”

“I didn't,” said Jack with an internal wince. “It’s _Captain_ Jack Sparrow, if you please.” One small word – seven minuscule letters – he didn't really think it would be asking too much for people to remember it. “And you, I take it, are Claire...?”

She merely stared at him from across the table.

“Right,” said Jack, recovering gallantly. He stuck his hand out. “Claire, then.” Kissing the back of her palm would have been his preferred greeting, but the firmness of her handshake stalled him. Her man also had a hearty grip on him – much to Jack’s surprise, as he looked like the bookish sort. Then again, James often seemed so, if you were foolish enough to stick him behind a desk.

“Aiden O’Connor.” Which was less of a surprise, as he had the faintest drop of Irish to a word here and there; probably all that was left after a sturdy English school had finished with him, for he was clearly educated. The girl spoke well enough too, with no discernible accent.

Jack crossed his hands on the table in front of him. “Well then, Aiden O’Connor and Mistress Claire –”

“It’s just Claire,” she muttered. Jack ignored her.

“– you are the first vampire slayer I've ever come across. And you, sir, what did you say your title was?”

“I am a watcher,” Aiden replied.

“So you – you slay the vampires and the beasties and whatsits.” Jack’s finger pivoted from Claire to Aiden as they both nodded. “And you...watch?”

Claire snickered at the face Aiden made. “Well, there is a bit more to it than that. It’s my job to – to govern the slayer, to look after her well-being in addition to training her.”

“Govern me?” Her voice heavy with sarcasm, Claire tapped her booted toe on his shin. “I’d like to see you try, O’Connor.”

He rubbed his leg with a superior sniff, but Jack caught the way he looked at her – well-being, it appeared, was something of an understatement. Claire, however, didn't notice a thing, and even having known her for so short a time, Jack reckoned she wasn't likely to notice at any point in the near future.

Filing that interesting little observation away for further perusal, Jack waved the sleepy waitress over for more coffee. The twin pinpricks he’d recently acquired throbbed in protest. He fingered the bandages, fighting an urge to scratch the itchy spots beneath. He’d had some interesting marks on his neck in the past, but this one was definitely going to stick in his memory.

“What’re you doin' in these waters?” he asked. “Certainly aren't local.”

Claire nibbled on a scone, readjusting the wooden stake strapped to her arm beneath her sleeve. “There’s more than enough activity here to keep me busy.”

“In fact, we’re on the lookout for a demon in this very town,” Aiden added. “It’s taken up residence in the body of one Tobias Nutley.”

Jack’s brows drew together. “Taken up residence?”

“Yes. So far as we've heard, the host was willing – he, ah, donated his body for the demon to inhabit, as a means of protection so that it might live amongst people.”

He thought for a moment, weighed this concept against bones coming clean in moonlight, and decided it didn't give him much pause. “And what’s this demon look like when it’s not...in residence, as it were?”

“Well, we aren't entirely certain – I've an engraving of the species in a book, but the drawings can't always be trusted...”

“You’re only saying that because the page looked like something you would not want to meet in a dark alley,” Claire retorted.

Aiden pursed his lips. “Be that as it may, we will have to face it, if we can locate it.”

Jack cocked his head, looking down at his poached eggs and half-remembering something. “Wait – Nutley, you said? Not old Nuts, who used t’ work with the tanner?”

“You know him?” Aiden inquired.

With a snort, Jack mussed the eggs with his fork. “Aye, and b’lieve me when I say he’d be the type for this demon-hosting rubbish.” He'd rubbed salve into Giselle's bruises himself, years ago.

“Do you know where he is?” Claire was busy studying her nails and looking at him through her eyelashes. It was plain she didn't trust him.

He stroked his beard thoughtfully, combing through the recollections of his last few trips. It had been quite some time since last he’d seen old mad Nuts. “No, but I’d find him faster’n you if I went looking.”

Claire looked affronted, but Aiden seemed ready to welcome the help. And truth to tell, Jack was up for another manner of distraction after what had transpired last night.

“I know we've only just met, but after all...” He grinned at the girl, not bothered that she remained unmoved. “What’ve you got to lose, eh?”

 

“Elizabeth? Will?”

Just as James was raising his hand to knock again, the door to the Turners’ house swung open. Elizabeth propped herself against the frame, red-cheeked, her eight-month-old son propped on her hip.

“James,” she said breathlessly, flicking a strand of hair out of her eyes with her free hand. “Oh, supper! I’d forgotten!”

Billy, momentarily preoccupied by James’s arrival, opened his small mouth and started to wail again.

James took a step back. “Perhaps it would be best if we reschedule?”

“Oh no, it’s perfectly all right,” she said, transferring the baby to her shoulder and bouncing him a bit. “Will should be home soon, though to be honest, not soon enough.” She looked past Billy’s unhappy face to fix pleading brown eyes on James. “I’m desperate for some company at the moment. Please stay.”

He toyed with the idea of refusal before giving it up and following her inside. She was happily married and he was...well, whatever he was with Jack, but he was still powerless against that look.

“It’s just been the day that wouldn't end,” Elizabeth explained once they were settled in the tiny parlor. “Estrella broke her wrist, so she’s recuperating with Mrs. Clarke. Billy’s had a fussy stomach all day, and Father’s in Nassau as you no doubt know, so I've been rushing around to the doctor and walking the baby around in circles and –”

“Remembering to breathe, I hope,” said James. Elizabeth returned his smile, though hers was strained with exhaustion. Billy was still crying, burying his face in his mother’s neck. Recalling the state in which he himself had woken up, James couldn't say he blamed the child. “Here, let me try to quiet him.”

With a grateful sigh, she wiped Billy’s nose and handed him over. His cries grew louder at the initial separation, but he recognized James soon enough. Gradually he grew silent, reaching a chubby hand out to play with James's neckcloth, until his lids started to droop.

When James glanced up, he found Elizabeth collapsed in her chair and gazing at him like he was the second coming. “I’d forgotten how much he likes you. You've as good as way with him as Jack does.”

James couldn't keep his face from clouding over. Seeing his expression, Elizabeth quickly steered the conversation to a safer topic.

How it happened, he wasn't sure; they were discussing trade with Holland and he was tugging Billy’s loose bootie back on. The next thing he became aware of was Elizabeth shaking his shoulder.

“James?” Half-supporting the child in his lap, she looked down at him with concern.

He swallowed, fighting a moment of panic. “I’m fine, Elizabeth. I – did not sleep well last night.”

“I hadn't noticed before, but you do look worn out,” she said, gathering her son in her arms. James shook out his wrists. “And – and odd. James, are you sure that’s all it is?”

He got to his feet, forcing a smile onto his lips. “Yes, quite sure. I've had a great deal of paperwork lately and I've been trying to catch up with the lot of it.”

Elizabeth studied him for a moment, her eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Well, if you say so,” she murmured.

“Shall I assist you in the kitchen, now that Billy’s sound asleep?”

To his relief, she was too appreciative of the help to press him further. Will returned a short time later, limping from having been stepped on by an irate draft horse, and they shared a pleasant meal. By the time it was over, a fierce storm was blowing in from the sea.

“It’s not so bad,” James hazarded, standing at the rattling window.

Elizabeth glanced up from where she was reading in her favorite chair. “Nonsense, James. It’s a bloody tempest out there.”

“You’re welcome to stay the night,” said Will, wiggling a stuffed rabbit in Billy’s delighted face.

James tugged on his wig, dreading the sound of that wind. “Oh, I wouldn't want to impose.”

“You wouldn't be imposing,” she replied with a laugh.

“But you haven’t got the –” He stopped himself from saying ‘room,’ seeing Will’s head snap up. “I don’t mind the walk, really,” he amended hastily.

Elizabeth set her book aside and came to stand beside him. “I refuse to let you out this door, James Norrington, and that is that. We’ll keep the baby in our room, because I doubt he’ll sleep through the night, and you can take Estrella’s bed. And that,” she said, giving him a stern glare as he began to protest, “is that. Have I made myself clear?” Her eyes twinkled in the low lamplight.

James couldn’t help but grin. “Inescapably clear, Mrs. Turner.”

“Erm, a bit of help here?” Will held the baby in the air, grimacing at the small fingers tangled in his hair.

 

It was with him. It listened as the two young people and the infant eased his mind. That was good. He’d learn to hold onto his fears soon enough.

 

Miles away, she waited for Jack to return. She wouldn't worry, not yet, because this was not Port Royal and the commodore’s bed was not here, so he would not stay long.

The storm did not bother her either. She had ridden worse, and laughed at the danger.

But the shift in the wind – that she wondered at, and it kept her restless through the long hours of the night.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: some strong horror elements/disturbing content in this chapter, though nothing graphic.

Dying shrieks filled the air as one by one, they stepped back to watch the thing breathe its last.

“So,” said Jack, his chest heaving and his bite-wound aching sharply. “That was a demon.”

Skin tinted slightly grayish, Aiden mopped his brow with a handkerchief and nodded. Claire canted her head to the side as she watched the demon’s final throes.

“Bigger than we thought,” she remarked.

“At least it’s raining,” said Jack as he followed her out of the tiny hovel in which Nuts and his demon had made their nest. “Can get this filth off easy enough.” He plucked distastefully at his shirt, which was sprayed with dark green blood. Finding his sword likewise sullied, he wiped it as best he could and imagined what a swoon Will would go into at seeing his blade like this. The wet, cool air outside was a welcome relief after the scent of old blood and unwashed man, not to mention the stink the demon had let off when they pierced its innards.

He realized that Claire had stopped to stare up at the sky, blinking against the raindrops lashing into her eyes.

Aiden put a hand on her elbow. “Claire?”

“It’s nothing,” she said quietly, still peering at the gloom. “For a moment I thought I felt...” She shook her head, braid whipping damply over her shoulder. “But it’s just the storm.”

 

Elizabeth was a light sleeper in the best of cases, and tonight she was kept half-awake listening for the sounds of Billy in discomfort. Yet for some reason she slept through the sound of the bedroom door opening, not waking until James was standing over the cradle with the boy in his arms.

She woke when her son did, hearing him make small, fretful noises at being disturbed. Rubbing sleep from her eyes, she sat up in bed and started to ask James what he was doing, but the words froze in her mouth when she caught sight of him.

He was humming something in a low voice, cradling Billy against his chest, rocking him slightly. Nothing appeared to be amiss in his outward appearance, but there was – something _off_ , something about his body’s movements that struck her as utterly wrong. As she watched, his shoulders twitched violently and he nearly dropped the baby. A gasp tore from Elizabeth’s throat. 

He looked up at the sound.

And it was not James looking out through his eyes.

“Elizabeth,” he said in a rough, hoarse voice – it was his own, but she’d never heard him sound like that in all the years she’d known him, and he pronounced her name very deliberately as if testing it out. “What a beautiful child you have.” He turned his attention back to Billy, whose noises were beginning to grow louder and more alarmed.

Blindly, not daring to take her eyes off the sight in front of her, she reached out to her husband. He was not so easy to rouse, but a pinch to the inside of his arm did the trick. He jerked awake, grumbling, and she pressed her fingers over his mouth.

“Will,” she breathed. He went still, then slowly sat up in bed. The heat of him beside her was a comfort, if a small one.

She could hear him swallow hard. “James,” he said, as carefully as he could, “is something the matter?”

James brushed his fingertips over Billy’s face. He had to raise his voice to be heard over the baby's cries. “This should have been my child, am I correct?”

Every nerve in her body was screaming danger, but she didn't dare move, not when he could so easily –

He lifted the squalling baby, holding his body with one hand and his head with the other. He lifted him like a blood offering at a heathen temple.

Will was trembling with the force of keeping himself still, for she knew he wanted to rush forward as badly as she did.

Billy wailed louder at the loss of support, flailing his arms.

“Men and their weaknesses,” said the voice that was and was not James’. Elizabeth rose to her knees as she watched his fingers tighten at the base of her son’s skull. He faltered as she and Will both bolted up, his head whipping to the side and his arms falling. Somewhere in the back of her mind she blessed her poor blacksmith’s home with its small rooms, because she was near enough to catch Billy as he dropped.

James cried out in some kind of pain even before Will barreled past her to knock him to the floor.

 

It released him so that it could watch. He lay passive beneath the other man, convulsive with the shock of its withdrawal. The younger man's searing anger began to cool as he picked himself up and stared down.

He was afraid. They all were. It was pleased. Feeling gracious, it gave them a moment to themselves.

 

Never in his life had Will so wanted to lash out at a man, and never before had he felt a greater right.

But even as he drew his arm back, even as Elizabeth burst out “Don’t!”, he halted.

James’s entire body was shaking, his eyes rolling back in his head. Will had once seen a sick calf go into a fatal seizure and it had looked much the same. 

Clutching Billy to her breast, Elizabeth tossed him a pillow. Her eyes were wide with horror. Will fought down his own panic and propped the pillow under James’s head to stop it knocking against the wood floor.

As the baby’s cries subsided into whimpers, so did James’s spasms. He subsided, staring up at the ceiling, and didn't respond to Will passing a hand over his eyes. His hand, when Will grasped it, was cool to the touch.

“James?” He felt for a pulse and was relieved to find it steady, if alarmingly slow. “Can you hear me?”

Fingers twitched. James’s eyes tried to focus on his face, without success. “Jack?” he whispered, his voice scratchy but a thousand times removed from its unearthly cadence of before.

He exchanged an uneasy look with Elizabeth. “No, it’s Will,” Squeezing his hand, Will watched in dismay as James closed his eyes.

“Jack,” he said again before he fell silent. 

After a moment Will shook his shoulder gently, then with greater urgency. “James!” He got no response.

"Will -"

“He’s breathing,” said Will over his shoulder, “but I can’t wake him.” He rose from his crouch, laying James’s hand at his side. “We've got to fetch Dr. Marbury.”

Elizabeth handed the baby over mechanically, her eyes locked on James. He recognized the little wrinkle she got between her brows when she was turning something over in her mind. “I...I don’t think so.”

Holding his hand protectively over Billy’s head, Will shot her an incredulous look. “What do you mean? There’s clearly something wrong with him – if he’s ill –”

“I don’t believe he is ill,” she said slowly. “Or gone mad. Will – when I looked into his eyes just then, I saw...” She trailed off with a shudder.

“What? What did you see, darling?” He wrapped his free arm around her waist, feeling the tension in her muscles.

“ _Not_ James,” she replied. “I agree that there is something very wrong, but I don’t think it’s something the doctor could help.”

Will remembered the shadow haunting James’s face when he’d had his hand around Billy’s neck. He looked down at the commodore now in his unnatural slumber, and knew that she was right. What he did not know – nor did Elizabeth, as he could see from the way she bit her lip – was what to do.

“All right,” he said in a heavy voice. “I can accept that there is something – something blasphemous happening here. It wouldn't be the first time, after all.”

“No,”Elizabeth agreed with a snort, “it would not.”

“But as the moonlight’s shining directly on him and he is still made of flesh, I’m at a loss.”

She took the baby, blissfully asleep once more, and settled him in his crib. “The first thing I propose we do is find the few people he trusts.”

Will raised his eyebrows. “That would be the two of us, your father, his lieutenants...and Jack,” he finished soberly, hearing James ask for him again. 

“Right.” She was dressing quickly, in a faded pink gown simple enough that she didn't need help. “I’m off to find whomever I can.”

At this, Will frowned. “On your own? Surely it would be best if I went.”

Fastening a cloak around her shoulders, Elizabeth glanced up at him, her eyes grave. “If he wakes up, who would have the better shot at restraining him?” Her steady hands faltered for a moment and she shook her head. “I cannot believe I just said that.”

“It wasn't a pleasant thing to say, but it was necessary,” said Will. “We should get him off the floor.”

He hooked his arms beneath James’s shoulders, Elizabeth took his feet, and they managed to lift him onto the bed. The move didn't disturb his slumber. Elizabeth tucked the covers around him with a tenderness she would never dare show in public, wiping the flecks of saliva from the corners of his mouth. Will was ashamed to admit it, but for a moment he felt an old wound reopen.

Then she bent over the cradle to kiss their son, and he worried no longer. When she straightened, he took her face in both hands and kissed her more deeply than he’d meant to, the sort of kiss they had neither time nor privacy for. She curved against him and met him with equal passion.

Their mouths broke apart and Elizabeth swatted him on the arm. “Let me go, Will. I won’t be long.”

For a moment he could not make himself release her; his instinct when danger was near was still to keep her in his sight at all costs. But she was right, and besides which, this was one of the battles he knew he couldn't win. Marriage to Elizabeth had brought him more than his fair share of them.

She pecked him on the cheek, smiled to reassure him, and turned away.

“It’s still raining,” he called through the door, “don’t forget your hood.”

Elizabeth made a faint sound of assent and then she was gone.

Checking on Billy one last time, Will dragged a chair in from the hallway and settled himself beside the bed. He drew Elizabeth’s silk dressing gown onto his lap and stroked the rich fabric.

“I know I thanked you once,” he said to James’s still form, glancing around the room with an irrational fear that someone would hear him speaking to a man who could not hear his words. “But I – I would like to do so again, when you wake up. So don’t...” His throat closed and his completed thought fled his mind. Jack would know what to say, but Will wasn't Jack, and he certainly couldn't be what Jack had become to James. 

But he could keep James safe until Jack arrived – it was the most, and the least, he could do.

 

She’d gone right past worry, right past impatience, all the way to surging fury. It was bad enough that Jack was forever lingering with the commodore on land. She was going to make him _pay_ for this time, in Tortuga of all places. He knew very well how she felt about Tortuga.

Restless in her displeasure, she suddenly felt something... _tug_. It was not the cry of the wind through her sails, although it felt similar. If she had been human, it might have been a prickling on the back of her neck, goose pimples rising on her arms, something seen out of the corner of one eye and then gone when she whirled about to look.

Although Jack heard her call, because he always did, he was distracted. She loved him but she could curse him too, and she railed at him with all the curses of wind and wave and wood and sun – a language richer than any man’s vocabulary.

There were older words, too, ancient words she would never dare speak, but in her sudden fear she came closer to them than she liked.

 

James woke in the Turners’ bedchamber with blood on his hands and the sound of weeping in his ears.

Kneeling on the floor, he stared at the bright stains. It was still wet, dripping onto his pristine white shirt. 

What had happened? Had he blacked out like he’d done with Elizabeth this afternoon? Was someone hurt?

He went to the door, hearing the sounds of grief grow louder at its threshold. When he tried to open it, fingers slick against the brass handle, he found it locked.

“Elizabeth?” he called. “Elizabeth, what’s happened?”

The voice cut off in the middle of a sob. It had sounded like her, but he couldn't be sure because he’d never heard her crying before. 

“Will?” He raised his voice in his second try, knocking sharply. A high-pitched scream from the other side made him leap back. Then the weeping sound started up again, only this time it was a man. His hollow, anguished cries faded as James backed away to the opposite wall.

He ran his fingertips over the flower-sprigged wallpaper, leaving bloody prints. There should be a window here – he was almost certain there would be, but again, he had never seen it firsthand.

Decided to try the door again, he strode forward and nearly stumbled over the cradle. It swayed as if there was something inside, but surely Billy would have been awakened by the noise. 

He pulled frothy white lace aside, reached in – and immediately drew his arm back, had to lean over and fight back heaves.

“It’s not real, it’s not real, I’m not well, I am seeing things,” he whispered, raking his dirty hands through his hair. When he had gotten his stomach back under control, he crept forward and made himself look.

This time, he could not keep his supper down.

“Is there anyone here?” he shouted after spitting out the last of the bile. Something heavy thumped outside the door and he ran to it, pounded on it with both fists until his knuckles split and some of the blood flowing to the floor was his own. “Answer me, damn you! _Please!_ ” He pressed his face to the immovable wood, repeating it, the word a piercing pain in his chest: “Please.”

He had to go back. There was no one else to do this. Locking his knees to keep them from shaking, he leaned over the cradle once more. He held a hand over his nose and mouth, wondering how he had missed the stench before, breathing in the scent of iron instead, and he pulled the knife out.

When he recognized the weapon beneath the rusty stains, his hand jerked and he sliced his fingers to the bone. 

“Oh God,” he breathed, shutting his eyes before they could fall upon the engraving on the pearl-inlaid hilt. _J.R.N._ on one side – his own initials – and on the other, so minute one might mistake them for a chip, _C.J.S._ And a tiny, perfect north star, as it had been a Christmas gift.

The blade fell from his hand, thinking dully on the floorboards.

 

Elizabeth remembered numbers, not names. She knew Theodore Groves lived at 1705, but had to canvas Stonemason Road and Rosewood Lane before the sign for Primrose Court jogged her memory.

She rapped on the door for a good ten minutes, muttering about bachelors who couldn't be bothered to hire a maid, and threw a handful of stones at his window before finally deciding he wasn't at home. Collapsing on his stoop, she propped her chin on her knees and thought. In no way was she prepared to admit defeat. James was far too important to her for that. She simply had to regroup and think of where he could be.

He had no family in Port Royal, nor was he ill, because she had politely asked after the good doctor’s other patients while he was looking Billy over. As far as she knew, he didn't have a sweetheart –

An offhand comment Jack had once made caused her to brighten before her head drooped again. Well, it wasn't going to be enjoyable, but her choices were few.

A few minutes later, Andrew Gillette opened his front door, badly hiding a scowl when he saw who had knocked. “Miss Sw – Mrs. Turner, whatever could you be doing out at this hour?”

Elizabeth squared her shoulders and looked him in the eye. “Lieutenant Gillette, you do not like me and I do not like you. However, our differences of opinion are of no consequence at the moment. James is at my house, and there is something wrong with him.”

“What? Is he sick?” Groves poked his head over Gillette’s shoulder, gray eyes worried. Gillette’s pale skin flushed deeply, but Elizabeth could not have cared less about the impropriety.

“He’s...” She paused. “You’d better come see for yourselves.”

 

It watched him in his agony, taking note of the girl’s flight but disregarding it.

It had him now. And She would be here soon.


	4. Chapter 4

It wasn't an unusual experience for a sailor to sleep the hot hours of the day away while in Tortuga, but Jack was rather ashamed of himself for having done so. He’d had many years to negotiate with his body and often managed to convince it that it didn't actually need the things it wanted, such as food, water, or sleep. When they had returned in the dawn light from their night’s excursions, however, he fell onto the bed in his rented room and didn't wake till after dusk. It wasn't a pleasant sleep, either, being plagued by dreams of a dark, nasty fog and James crying his name through the mists. He was quite content to leave that world, wherever it was, behind him.

Claire and Aiden were in the next room over, discussing their plans for the night. He helped himself to supper leftovers and occasionally offered his advice. Mostly he sat and rolled his eyes over their circular arguments. Claire was bored with Tortuga and wanted to find new hunting grounds, while Aiden thought they should give the town one last sweep before they found passage elsewhere. Jack considered taking them to a near port, but in truth, he didn't want the girl anywhere near his _Pearl_. He liked her all right, but she was a magnet for trouble.

Around midnight, he got up for a stretch and offered to buy a round from the tavern below. Barely glancing up from where they were stabbing fingers at a grubby book, they nodded to him.

Jack pouted for a moment – when he’d said he would treat, he hadn't actually meant from his own pocket. As neither had offered to pay, he supposed he didn't have much of a choice if he wanted to make this long night any more bearable.

He was approaching the bar when he froze in the middle of the crowded room. A man with short brown hair stood there, conversing with the barkeep. His coat was plain brown rather than blue, but Jack recognized him right away.

“Theo, lad!” he said, clapping James’ second lieutenant on the back. “What a fine surprise this is. Grown weary o’ that little firebrand, have you? Well, I've got just the –” He broke off at the look on Groves’s face. “What’s happened?”

Groves pulled on one stiff sleeve. “It’s James –”

Before he could say another word, Jack grabbed his arm. The other man protested this rough treatment, but he followed Jack up the stairs. The door connecting the two rooms was still open; Aiden and Claire looked up, startled, as he slammed it shut and locked it. He spun, leaned against it, and ignored the knocks and muffled curses from the other side.

“Tell me,” he said shortly

Sinking down on the bed as if he had no more energy to stand, Groves said, “He’s - he’s not well, but it’s not from any sickness so far as we can tell. Last night he tried to kill the Turners’ child.”

Jack rotated his little finger in one ear, sure that he had misheard. “He what now?”

“I know it sounds absurd, but it’s true. Elizabeth and Will said that he simply wasn't himself – that it was as if he became another person. Andrew and I have noticed strange behavior too, in the past few days, but only small things. He’s distracted easily, he looks poorly rested, he can’t remember where he laid something only a moment before – nothing like this. Jack, he’s —“ Groves looked down at his lap. “He fell into some kind of sleep and can’t be woken.”

Of all the men under James’s command, Theodore Groves was the jolliest and the most likely candidate for pulling a prank. He was also the one Jack knew the best, and when he was being honest, there was no mistaking it.

He thought of the many times he’d crept into the commodore’s bed and welcomed him back from sleep. It was an easy enough task, especially since Jack was very creative.

As if he could follow the progress of Jack’s thoughts, Groves added, “He was asking for you. We thought perhaps if you were there...or that you might know something, somebody that could help, with all you've seen and done...”

Jack, at the moment, was running through each and every memory he could summon, discarding the irrelevant ones and combing what remained for any useful scrap. He started at the beginning, so he quite forgot about the pair he’d met so recently. Just then, Claire obliged him by kicking down the hallway door.

Groves stared at her as she stormed in, hands planted on her hips, imposing in bearing if not in height. “Just what was the meaning of that, Sparrow?”

Aiden came in more quietly, but he too looked vexed. “Really, Jack, if you have a visitor, all you need do is ask for privacy.”

Leaping forward, Jack grabbed the slayer by the shoulders, barely aware of her flinging his arms away. “I've got a new assignment for you, love.” He gave Aiden a tight, fierce grin. “And for you, mate, a tale for the annals of history, if you can suss it.”

“Jack, who are these people?” Groves wanted to know.

Jack flicked an irritated hand at him. “Can’t be bothered with niceties, we haven’t got the time. All you need know is that we’re taking them to James. Now I’m off to find me crew, and I shall expect to meet you three at the docks in exactly two hours.” 

He left them to make their own introductions – the girl had no social graces, true, but her young man was cordial enough to please the king, and Theo was a bright boy. Jack had bigger fish to fry.

 

James was six years old and small for his age. In school, the other boys pushed him into the dirt. His two older brothers cleaned him up when they got home, but did nothing to stop it. They said that there were rules on the playground, and they were different than the rules at home or school or church. James spat on Tom’s shoes and right then and there, decided he was going to live his life according to only one set of rules – the _right_ set.

In the navy, he advanced quickly because he recognized his ideal rules as those governing the officers. He was eager to leave the drudgery of the lower ranks behind, and he did it through his own hard work and integrity, without ingratiating himself into rich families the way Charles did in the army. And the work pleased him; this was what he had been made for, and a man could not change how he was made. Not the dumb sailors under his command, not the sinful women at the docks, not the pirates he hunted across the wide Caribbean.

The world refused to bend to his rules when he encountered the crew of the _Black Pearl_ , but the governor did. He was of a mind to grant Will Turner clemency, but the things James had seen in those few days made argue forcefully against it. The boy had been born a washerwoman’s son – which could hardly be helped – and he had taken up with the basest manner of man alive – which certainly could have been avoided. If he did not have the character to resist the lure of piracy, James reasoned, there was nothing to be done. It was a hard task, but one allotted to them by duty and Providence. He gave little thought to the pirate Jack Sparrow besides being sorry that his rope had been the same length as Turner’s, because Sparrow was lighter and thus took longer to die. 

He tested the limits of his own strength by forgiving Elizabeth the dishonor that had come upon her being in the grasp of pirates. She kept her word and he took her into his home as his wife. He was not cruel to her, so he didn't understand why she insisted on becoming so sullen and withdrawn. Even allowing her to name their firstborn son William earned him nothing in her eyes. When she slit her wrists in the bath one summer afternoon, he mourned the senseless waste of life. Clearly she had not been as sound of mind as he had once thought.

“But it didn't happen,” James cried out, falling to his knees on the bare rock. “None of it happened!”

“None of it?” The voice came from every possible angle, light and interested.

James peered up at the gray sky. “Not like that.”

“Ah, but it could have happened like that,” said the voice. “It’s not so far-fetched.”

The clothes on his body were his own, but they were in tatters. He wrapped his arms around himself, though not because he was cold – this strange landscape gave off neither heat nor chill. “Who are you?” he demanded, his voice restored to some of its usual resonance. “Why are you doing this?”

“You cannot comprehend all the things I am,” the voice replied. “Let us say only this: I am stronger than you, the things I show you are greater than what you have made of your life, and I _will_ break you.”

“I am a commodore in His Royal Majesty’s navy and I –” 

“Your rank is attractive, but it will not save you. I know you, James Robert Norrington.” His head whipped to the side, for it had seemed to whisper right over his shoulder, oily and dank. “I know what lies within your heart, your thoughts, your memories, the dreams you have given up and those you have clung to.”

He saw the _Interceptor_ explode, as he had made Jack describe it one night – Jack –

“Yes,” the voice rumbled, “there is that man, again and again. There are others you love, but none so greatly as him. And yet he is anathema to everything to which you have pledged yourself. Doesn't that thought ride you in the darkest hours of the night?”

Heaving himself to his feet and stalking a short distance away was, he knew, futile – but as a gesture of defiance, it was the best he could manage. “He is a good man,” he said, finishing the thought with, _And I do love him._

It was what he had feared for a long time now, but to his astonishment the fear burned off like morning fog. Was it really so simple as that?

“No,” the faceless thing told him with a chuckle. “You know that it is not. You know that if he were standing in front of you right now, you’d never tell him. You know that this will not last. All human flames fade away so quickly, of course.” Its tone was almost reflective. “But yours especially. Gone as if it never was, with one or both of you dead, and neither better off for the dalliance.”

James said nothing, tried very hard to think nothing. If it thought it could bait him, he would show it what earning that uniform had meant.

“Arrogant, aren't you?”

_I am not,_ James though, offended.

It laughed again, a low, cruel, thundering sound. “We shall see. It will depend on how long you last. When your pirate arrives, I might ask him what his opinion is, if you’re still alive.”

James was considering probing further about what exactly it was, and what was being done to him, when the pain hit.

It was like being pounded by some invisible surf. Dimly he was aware of falling, of the dust rising in a cloud around his body, but the ache coursing through him caused him to spend long minutes just trying to breathe. He thought the white noise in his ears might have been his own voice.

Six years ago, he’d gotten shot in the left arm during a skirmish with a French privateer. The _Dauntless’_ doctor had been busy trying to save the life of a midshipman with a neck wound, so James had employed Groves’ steady hands to pluck the shot out. Because he had ignored it for longer than he should have, it was not easy to extract it. Adrenaline and pride made him turn away liquid fortitude, so that he went straight from near-blissful ignorance to the worst pain he’d yet felt. To keep himself from passing out, he had gone over the battle in his mind, second by second, filing away blows, close calls, strengths and weaknesses in his crew, what would need repairs, and so forth. Groves told him later that he’d been muttering under his breath the whole time.

Now he forced his mind to review everything that had happened – the brutal details of that first vision, the too-familiar taste of the second, and his conversation with an entity he couldn't see or locate. It had taunted him with his own fears, mostly about Jack – that was not surprising. He had always known how dangerous a secret that could be, if it fell into the wrong hands. It seemed male to him, but there was no way to prove that was so, or if it was female, or if it was neither. It had spoken of humans in a way that led him to assume it was not human itself. This thought gave him pause. Even the pirates that would not die had been human, in the end.

What was most significant – and, James thought, rather thoughtless on the part of his tormentor – was its claim that Jack was on his way to Port Royal. He supposed it might have been a ruse; he had no idea how much time had passed, whether they would have been able to get word to Jack, who was no doubt sulking in Tortuga right now. More sobering was his uncertainty as to whether Jack would be angry enough to ignore whomever had been sent to fetch him.

There was no way to tell for sure, and he didn't know if he in fact wished for it to be true. He wanted Jack near, wanted his dexterous wit and his sense of self-preservation and the simple comfort of his presence. At the same time, he accused himself of selfish cowardice and hoped Jack was far away for the sake of safety.

He put this conundrum aside and went back over his main points. He hadn't learned much, but it was better than nothing. If the thing had been processing his thoughts, it gave no indication.

As the pain started to seep into his conscious mind once again, he gritted his teeth and willed it away with Elizabeth’s pirate song - Billy’s favorite lullaby. Time passed, and with it went his body’s misery.

Released, he lay on his stomach, breathing in the gray dust and choking on it. He had only enough energy to heave himself onto his back.

“Hmmm.” He got the impression that it was circling him. “Stubborn, too. I admire that. It marks you as worthy.”

“And what,” James managed to gasp, ignoring the burn in his lungs, “might I be worthy for?”

“Ah, but that would be telling. Wait here.” He could have sworn he heard it smile. “Understanding that I leave you no choice, of course.” And it was gone.

James had time enough to wonder what had called it away before awareness of anything eluded him.

 

She could feel the girl coming from a distance, but at first did not think this to be odd. Instead she occupied herself with wondering why Jack was bringing a woman aboard. It was unusual, so already being cross with him, she brooded.

Not until they arrived did she realize why this one stood out. It had been a long time since anyone except Jack had burned bright to her eyes. This one shone so hard that all the others, even her own beloved, were eclipsed. It was an ancient light, unmistakable for any other – that of the slayer line.

Curious, she watched; she had never met a slayer before, though she had learned of them from her kind before she was called _Black Pearl_. The girl sensed her in return, although she was not able to define anything beyond a sense of unease. She forgave that, as a slayer was generally only familiar with spirits intending harm. And she forgave the blow to her pride as well – she had spent long years in this form, it was only natural that the watcher observed no sign of her.

Besides which, she forgot all about the other two when she reached out to Jack. He was not her brilliant, dashing trickster now; this was Jack as he’d been nearly thirteen years before, the last traces of him as she sailed out of his sight and began to get an inkling of what a mess she had gotten herself into.

He was afraid.

To the others, he was manically cheerful, daring them to question the windstorm in his eyes, but she knew better. He was distracted, wouldn't speak to her, didn't whisper praises and endearments like he always did after he was away. She was much too worried to be insulted.

Soon enough, she learned the reason why. The slayer asked him about “this James,” whether he was a relative, or a friend, or...and she trailed off, reluctant to pry further because of the way his jaw tightened.

“ _Friend_ ,” he replied. The man, who had understood far earlier than his charge, spoke to her quietly and drew her away from the wheel.

Possibilities presented themselves, vague discomfiting thoughts that had been raised in her mind for hours now. She set them aside for the moment, seeking to console him. He breathed in the salt air and listened to her song, but it was not enough. He could at least get some much-needed rest, she thought, but though his eyes grew heavy, he would not leave the helm.

With what power she had, she pulled him closer to sleep, into that world where she could appear to him, touch him, take him in her arms. At the same time she made sure the wheel was steady beneath his slackened fingers. He would not remember this when he woke, not really; he never could. But he would know she was there, with him somehow, and that was why she loved him.

In his dream – her dream – he clung to her and whispered, “James.” It hurt, as it always did, but she let it go.

When his mind had eased somewhat, she left him blinking into the distance and gathered her strength for what she was about to do. It was within her limits, but she knew it would test them. She had never felt a need to do this, except when she had left Jack behind, and then the curse had shackled her. He needed her now, and if that meant going to the man who vied for his heart, then so be it.

She stretched across the shrinking distance between herself and Port Royal. It was tiring, and she got lost a number of times, and once she retreated completely to check on Jack. When she reached James, watched over by the girl she quite liked and the boy who made her nervous because he smelled of fire, she was not surprised at what she found. Dismayed, but not surprised. 

She stepped into the land it had constructed for itself, calling it by the human name nearest to the bond between them. “Hello, brother.”


	5. Chapter 5

James stirred only once in his sleep within sleep. He opened his eyes to see a dark-haired woman in a black dress standing some distance away. She was blurred at the edges, like something seen through the heat of a fire. He couldn't tell if she was young or old, ugly or beautiful, friendly or hostile. He couldn't find it within himself to care.

He closed his eyes and drifted again.

In Port Royal, Elizabeth nursed the baby while she took her shift at James’s side. Will was asleep in the next room, his soft snores audible through the open door. Watching Billy’s contented face, she thought she saw a hint of movement on the bed and glanced up. But James looked the same.

 

She could see it , but only as a reflection of herself – features a bit more angular, body longer and leaner, eyes colder. She supposed she could toss it a gender too, for her own convenience. He made a distasteful face at the form she had chosen, but damn him if he thought she was going to talk to the open air.

“My dear... _sister_ ,” he said with an amused twist on the word. “I won’t call you by the name they have given you. We were not meant to have names.”

Like Jack, he peppered his speech with dead ends and non-sequiturs in order to throw a listener off. When Jack did it, she found it endearing; with him she saw through the distraction and was not amused. “Whatever are you doing here?”

“Taking this one over,” he said, gesturing to the man sprawled nearby. She recognized James, though she had only seen him from a distance, but her attention was elsewhere at the moment. “He will be the path to my ascension, restore my birthright – _our_ birthright, I should say.”

She quirked her eyebrows, an expression she had learned from Jack and suspected would be lost on him. “And it seems to be going so well.”

Apparently he had a handle on sarcasm, for his face flushed darkly.

“I will have flesh,” he said, voice still smooth and controlled. Of the two of them, her temper had always run hotter, but she had been through too much to let it rule her now. “ _This_ flesh.”

She didn't bother to ask why, although frankly she was interested in knowing why he had gone for James instead of Jack. Afraid to enter her domain, perhaps, or too impatient to sneak past her defenses.

Instead she replied, “No, you won’t. You know as well as I that he has to be willing”

He snorted, casting disdainful eyes upon the man. “And rest assured, he will be. He is weak, mortal, human. He cannot last forever.”

She saw the unease he was trying to hide beneath his cavalier facade. So it seemed James had been putting up an admirable struggle. Jack would be proud. “He does not fight for himself,” she informed him. She knew he would not understand, but she wasn't speaking for his benefit. If there was any chance James could hear them now, he would take these words to heart. “He fights for love. His thoughts are with those who care for him.” 

“Love?” He spat on the ground. “A human construct. It matters not. And who is his love, anyhow? That man who leaves him every time they couple, and no wonder; it is a messy, ungainly act. The man to whom you chain yourself, a slave to his waters and whims.”

She had to fight to keep from smiling. Oh, he really did know nothing, had learned not a whit in these years. “I am not his slave. And he is on his way now.”

His lip curled in a snarl, marring an otherwise handsome face (a vanity, she would admit, as his face was the shadow of her own). “It’s only a question of time. They all betray one another in the end.”

“He is loyal,” she said, thinking to James, _This is our Jack, yours and mine_ , and barely swallowing her resentment. “For ten years he searched for me.”

“Inconsequential span of time," he scoffed. "The blink of an eye.”

Now she did smile, enjoying the way his eyes burned hot with anger. “Not to them.”

He lifted one finger for an exercise in point-making. “Ah, but would his faith stray if he knew how you fought him? If he knew that it was you put your forked tongue to the envious one’s ear and whispered of mutiny?”

Despite her awareness that he was deliberately provoking her, the old shame and despair tinted her cheeks. There were many things she wished Jack could know about her, but that was not one of them. “It was the beginning. I didn't understand. When I was bound by the curse, I knew what suffering was and I saw how he would have cared for me, if I only I had not been so proud.”

“So you stay, haunting a dead hunk of wood, for him, when you could wield such power – you and I together, think what we could do!”

And there it was, said plain. He must be truly frustrated; she’d thought it would be ages still before he revealed himself. If he thought her pause meant she was considering the option, so much the better. He didn't think as quickly when he got lazy.

“I have my own power, brother.” She let her eyes drift away, as if she could not bring herself to look him in the eye.

It worked; his voice was back to distantly amused, less forced, less desperate. “And yet you can do nothing to help this man he loves.” He locked his arms behind his back, circled her. She turned her head to follow him. “You were born of darkness. Being joined with the ship was meant to be temporary, a punishment. The confinement of the curse ought to have made you rage all the harder at being trapped.”

“You cannot understand what it means to be named,” she snapped with all the force she really meant, before she could think better of it. Fortunately, he was already complacent in his former assurances.

“Do you hate me, then?” His laugh was pleasant and easy.

“No, I feel only pity for you,” she said haughtily, tossing her head, the very picture of one trying to convince herself of the truth of her own words. And indeed they were true – this was the sort of wordplay _she_ had always loved, to tell the greatest lie by telling a truth. “ Hatred I’ll leave to him.” She allowed herself a moment of smug pride at what Jack would think to do if he knew how things really were, if he knew that she was being threatened.

“His will be the first blood I spill when this mind is broken.”

Thus reminded, she grew sober as she looked at James. “We shall see.”

If Jack could reach him, just for a moment...

But he didn't have the means, so it was up to her. The moment it became plausible, she would tell her truths to this man she really rather would have hated. Perhaps there would still be time for it later, if they all managed to get through this.


	6. Chapter 6

Later Jack wouldn't remember much about the short sail to Port Royal, although he was fairly sure he was setting a speed record that would not be broken any time soon. Certainly the little lieutenants couldn't keep up in their _Indispensable_. James had been boasting that she might be a match for the _Pearl_ , but it wasn't as if they'd had an opportunity to test that theory. Besides which, he wasn't entirely certain how the _Pearl_ might take to James. She had a funny way about people.

She was restless beneath his hands now, as if feeling his urgency – though in Jack’s mind, there was really no ‘if’ about it. He spoke to her, told her how strong and swift and lovely she was, and implored the sky for a fair breeze.

His crew knew better than to approach him with anything less than a near-death emergency. Gibbs seemed fond of Aiden and distracted him from violent seasickness with the tallest tales in his considerable repertoire. Claire paced, and often her pacing brought her near the helm.

“I think your ship is haunted,” she said once, to which he replied with a shrug. A little while later, she informed him that one of the beads in his hair looked exactly like those belonging to a man she’d met in India, who had invoked Kali for selfish reasons. He choked to death on nothing that they could see before she’d even drawn her blade. Aiden swore it had been the goddess herself who’d done the deed, but Claire refused to rule out the possibility that a lesser demon had taken control of the man.

His curiosity piqued by this story, Jack asked if she didn't believe it was God punishing the unrighteous.

Claire snorted. “Surely you don’t think we have anything to do with the church?”

“Dunno,” Jack replied. “Demonic possession an’ all, could be you’re doin’ holy works. After all, where’d the beasties come from?”

Her face went blank and distant, her eyes focusing on the wide sea before them. “Hell I believe in, Captain Sparrow. I've been too near it to have the luxury of pretending otherwise.”

“And heaven?” he said, not really sure where he was going with this line of questioning, since he didn't intend to make a judgement on theology until the day he could argue his case before some divine court, if indeed one existed.

The slayer glanced back at him, hard-edged once more. “I’ll admit to a greater level of doubt with that one.”

“What’s your young man say on the subject, considering he’s gotten t’ see much of what you have?”

At that, she visibly bristled. Chin held high, she sniffed, “I don’t know what O’Connor believes. Feel free to ask him yourself.” Jack chuckled at the stubborn pride of young people as she stalked off to bother Anamaria.

She didn't return for some time. On her next circuit, she asked what it would mean to him if this man were to die.

He closed his eyes and counted very slowly. It took till twelve before he could make himself breathe normally again, and about seventeen before he turned around. He found some gratitude in the fact that Claire’s lips thinned and her hands twitched, feeling the need for a weapon.

“That is something,” he said in a voice so low it was almost swallowed by the gusting wind, “I’d rather not find out, ‘f it’s all the same to you.”

She held her tongue for the rest of the voyage, though he could feel her wary gaze upon him from all corners of the ship.

He dropped anchor in the small bay he always used for visits, taking a boat closer in rather than having to pick a path along the coast. Sneaking into town was not an easy task, as he was well-known and strangers were immediately noticed, but Jack didn't busy himself with the details of the operation. Though he was vaguely aware of greeting Elizabeth and Will, nothing really made an impression upon him until he walked into the dark bedchamber, and then the whole world seemed to sharpen until he feared it would shatter into pieces.

James was lying peacefully on his back, pale beyond reason, arms straight at his sides. He looked so near to – and Jack cut the thought off before it had the chance to complete itself. Dropping into the armchair and taking James’s near hand in both his own, he suppressed a shudder at how his temperature had fallen. Strange, too, was the lack of sensation he received in return – even in sleep, James never failed to respond to the lightest touch.

“‘Lo, Jamie,” he said, stroking his fingertips along the back of James’s palm.

Filing in behind him, the Turners and the strangers regarded each other with trepidation. “Er, Jack?” said Will after a moment.

“Claire and Aiden, Will and Elizabeth, whose happy home this is,” said Jack without looking up. “Let’s catch each other up, shall we – vampire slayer, watcher, blacksmith, governor’s daughter and general nuisance.”

“Watch your mouth, pirate,” Elizabeth replied, her voice soft and lacking in any fire.

“What’s a vampire slayer?” Will wanted to know.

He left them to their own devices, busy counting the shallow dips and rises of James’s chest as he breathed. They were standing near enough to reach out and touch, but Jack was no longer there to do so.

 

_“Jack. Is this really necessary?”_

_“Nnnghh.”_

_Pinned beneath him, James heaved a sigh and locked his arms behind the pirate’s back. “Do you do this to your pillow when I’m not available?”_

_Jack’s head popped up, his eyes dancing. “Jealous?”_

_“Hardly,” said James with a laugh, wrangling one leg free and hooking it behind Jack’s knees His face darkened with sudden heat. “I know you’re mine.”_

_Ducking down to puff a breath against his nipple, Jack shivered delightedly at the low, rippling tone. He nudged the commodore’s thighs farther apart, reaching down to stroke him back from exhaustion. “Yours, eh?” He grinned at the soft moan escaping James’s lips, the almost puzzled crinkling of his brow. “I like the sound of that.”_

_“Jack, please,” James panted, rocking up against him, fingers tightening around his arms. The blatant need in his voice spurred Jack on where he might have taken his time, lingered on small pleasures, teased just a little. Instead he prepared them both with eager, trembling hands and took him hastily, sinking into that willing body while rough cries assaulted his ears. Claims were staked aloud on both sides. By the time he coaxed James’s release from him, his throat was raw, but that was not what silenced him; he found himself unable to speak for the wonder blooming in wide green eyes._

_“Fuck... _James_ – oh –” was all he managed to gasp out as he spent himself._

_“Any time,” said James, voice quaking but warm, as Jack pulled out and flopped to the side._

_This time, it was James who reached out in the darkness and Jack who yielded to his grasp, whispering, “Don’t let go.”_

 

“But you always have to, don’t you?” he murmured, bringing James’s hand up and pressing lips to his knuckles. “Not this time, love. This time I really, really mean it.”

The others had relocated to the hallway to give him a modicum of privacy, although the door was open and he could hear their quiet voices. Aiden was saying something about supplies and rituals, while Will was asking Claire about the sword she wore.

He lost track of time while he watched the faint flickers beneath James’s eyelids. When Elizabeth laid a hand on his shoulder, he jerked in surprise and grimaced at the protest of stiff muscles.

“A moment, Jack?”

Aiden was standing beside her, hefting the bag of books he had insisted on lugging with him. “There is something I must do, to find out what’s plaguing him,” he said gently. “It shouldn't take long, but it will be best if the room is cleared. The flow of energies is very delicate and too many presences may disrupt it.”

He let Elizabeth help him to his feet, reluctantly turning James’s hand loose. The sympathy in the man’s eyes made him scowl. He wasn't some helpless maiden clinging to an ailing sweetheart. He’d brought the two of them here for a reason, after all. “Do what needs t’ be done.”

Claire and Will were sequestered in the nursery He was looking more and more rattled as she explained the basics of what Aiden was preparing to do, though he tried to smile at Jack. Patting the lad’s arm absently, Jack stared at the door to the adjoining room.

 

James was sitting bolt upright before he’d fully awakened.

The only sound cutting through the darkness was that of his own ragged breathing. He ran his hands over his face, down his neck, his chest, astonished to find himself whole and unharmed. The pain grinding his bones to dust was gone, leaving nary reminder in its wake.

Something shifted to his left. Steeling himself, he flung the coverlet back, fully expecting to see the lifeless face of someone dear to him.

He was half-right. Jack peered fuzzily up at him, flipping a limp hand. “Oy, can’t a bugger get any sleep ‘round ‘ere?”

Unbelieving, James gaped at him. “Jack? You’re really here?”

“Where else would I be? Honestly, Jamie,” said Jack with a yawn, “keep this up and they’ll soon call _you_ madman ‘stead of me.” He rolled nearer, nuzzling into James’s thigh.

Slowly James let go of his shock. Already the details were fading away, remnants of an unpleasant dream and nothing more. This – _this_ was reality.

He brushed fingertips over the planes of Jack’s face, assuring himself that his eyes and ears did not lie. Jack purred in appreciation, arching his back as James slid down to kiss every bare inch of him. Finding him naked beneath the sheet, he kept moving lower, frantic with the need to touch him, feel the warmth of his skin. Jack sighed sleepy encouragement as James covered the tanned chest with damp kisses. He planted his hands flat on the mattress and drew himself up, shortening James’s path to the dark thatch of hair between his legs. James smiled and bent to kiss him there, too.

But he never got the chance to take Jack in his mouth because he was still moving, his hips twisting out of James’ grip. Confused, James glanced up.

Jack was not writhing in pleasure; he was struggling. Far from the sweet entreaties James had believed he was making, his muffled whimpers were actually sounds of distress. A thick rope was knotted securely around his neck, winding up and disappearing into the dark above the bed. His face was beginning to darken from lack of air, his tongue stuck out and bloodied from the uncontrollable gnashing of his teeth.

The rope jerked, pulled aloft by some unseen force, bearing Jack with it.

“ _No,_ ” he hissed, taking hold of Jack’s feet. The opposing pressures only made him spasm harder. James let go immediately, rising to his knees and stretching his arms upward. The ceiling was impossibly far above his head. He could only watch, frozen, as Jack was yanked out of reach until his head thunked against wood. A plank was set into the joint of wall and ceiling, the rope running beneath it and trailing back down. He found the end of it clutched in his own hand.

James released it, fumbling to catch Jack as he fell. Bending him over his lap, he brushed tangled hair out of his face.

“Please, oh God, please –” He was not a man to whom prayer came naturally, nor was he without his moments of doubt that it would be futile regardless. But he looked at Jack’s still face, and he made his plea.

_I have never in my life asked for anything, not like this. Only – only let him live, and I swear I’ll never touch him again._

If God was moved by his vow, James saw no sign of it. Jack lay across his legs, not moving, not breathing – nothing but dead weight for him to hold onto.

 

It hovered near his crouched form. There was no longer any need to rend his mind with pain, physical or mental. He was ripe.

Almost disappointed, it began to reach out to him, but something penetrated its peace.

The disturbance came again, a feeling like an inquisitive prod. This one was sharper than the first, strong enough to make the rocks grumble.

If it could have, it would have stamped its foot. It nearly adopted the form She had chosen for it, just for the satisfaction of displaying its displeasure. It had been so _close_.

But first, this insolence had to be dealt with. Muttering to itself, it diverted its attention to the intrusive presence, leaving him alone.

 

She had been peeking through cracks, waiting for a chance, and she snatched this one up in the time it would have taken to draw a whole breath.

 

Cool hands cupped James’s chin, lifting his head. He allowed himself to be directed, unable and unwilling to muster resistance. If his captor had finally decided to let him look upon its face, what did he care? He had no one to tell, since he was never getting out of here sane, and probably not alive.

The face before him was nothing like what he’d expected. For one thing, it was a woman’s face – a girl, really. Though she was paler than any living person he had seen, her loveliness was not marred by the yellowed cast of illness or the blue tinge of death. Black hair tumbled thick over her shoulders, matching equally dark eyes below a widow’s peak and a high forehead. They absorbed the grayish light without reflecting it. Her features – straight nose, arched brows, small, heart-shaped mouth – were intelligent and curious. She had a stubborn, rounded chin and fine cheekbones that rather reminded him of Jack’s.

Even as he opened his mouth to ask who she was, part of him knew.

“I haven’t much time,” she said, her whisper like a slow rush of water. “You’re in danger, James, but you will not be lost.” She lifted her chin, eyes fierce. “We’ll see to that. But you must hold on, or I cannot help you.”

He had nothing to say to this, though he was filled with relief at having company. The girl – ship – spirit – whatever she was – cocked her head, regarding him with interest.

“For a long time I've wondered about you, James Norrington, and now I have met you. You are brave, and handsome, and good,” she said, running one finger along the curve of his jaw. Her touch was soothing, helping to ease the tension in his shoulders. “It is easy to see why he loves you.”

“Jack,” he said, grabbing her hand roughly. She pulled it free with a warning frown. “Is he all right? And Elizabeth, and Will –”

“They are fine,” she said, sounding cross. “They’re watching over you.”

And in his head he saw another vision, a true one this time. The Turners stood by the doorway to their bedroom, hands linked, with another couple he didn’t recognize. He looked past them to the bed, where he saw his own body lying.

“So that’s where I am,” he said quietly.

Jack was by his side, pressing his hand tight and watching shadows move across his face. If he tried, he could almost feel the calluses on Jack’s palms, the bones of his wrists –

“No,” she scolded, “it isn't time yet.”

Drawn back to the twilight world, he looked at his companion and shook his head. “I’m very sorry, all this is unfamiliar to me. I don’t understand.”

She got to her feet, ragged black skirt swishing around her ankles. “Nor should you. This fight was begun long before your time.” She looked so wild that he found himself leaning away from her, afraid.

Noticing, she softened her gaze, though she did not smile. He got the impression that she didn't do so very often. “I mean you no harm, James – in fact, I mean to help you.”

“Why?” he couldn't help asking. “What have I got – why am I here to be helped in the first place?”

“There is too much to explain,” she said. “I am here because I will not let him lose you, if it can be prevented.”

“You love him,” he said, knowing that he would have a difficult time understanding the _Black Pearl_ as a living entity under normal circumstances. But in this world, it was an easy thing to accept.

She planted her hands on her curving hips. “Of course I love him,” she declared. “And you remember that I had him first.” Her head turned as if she heard something he could not, and her brow furrowed in dismay. “I have to go now, James, but remember what I said – you are not alone, and neither Jack nor I will let go.”

“Please, I –” He found himself speaking to empty air. She had gone. Unfortunately, that didn't mean he was alone.

“Talking to someone unseen, were we? Confessing our sins, perhaps. No matter.” He slowly lowered himself to the ground, stomach churning at its return. “It will all be over soon.”

He threw himself into the crush of the pain this time, focusing doggedly on it. His agony seemed to increase tenfold, but better that than he let a thought slip to warn it of what he had seen.

She had promised him that this was not the end, and perhaps he was a fool for it, but he believed her.


	7. Chapter 7

Aiden didn't like performing magic. As a boy, he wanted to be a cobbler. Then his father had broken the news about the family tradition, and he’d understood that he would have to do a lot of things he didn't like very much. The scholarly aspect of various magics appealed to him – he was fond of debating abstract concepts and he could spend hours perusing the Council’s libraries. But the prospect of actually working spells always rattled his nerves. There was nothing abstract about it then; theory was replaced by dangerous forces no man could ever fully understand, beings hovering at the edges of his consciousness, a thousand nasty consequences if his concentration slipped or he’d worked something out badly.

He did it because he took his calling very seriously, for all that it had come upon him unawares. A watcher who was lazy or hid behind his books was likely to get himself or his slayer killed. He was determined not to go down in the records as a failure. More importantly, he simply would not let Claire meet a bad end because of his mistakes. It was his duty to protect the line, of course, but in the three years they’d spent traveling together, this had come to mean very little. Slaying was in her blood, so much a part of her that it was impossible to separate the concept of ‘Claire’ and ‘slayer’ in his mind; yet if she had suddenly decided to abandon her post and settle in Edinburgh to raise sheep, he would have bought a tartan and followed her without a second thought.

So he brushed it off when she mocked his diligence, although it did hurt. Sharing his real motivation was not even an option. She had nothing but contempt for romance. All it got you, she claimed, was babies and a tether. He was certain that this came mostly from a slayer’s right and natural shunning of personal relationships. On the other hand there were things she refused to tell him about the first fourteen years of her life, before she had begun her training, two years before he’d taken over for her previous watcher. If there was pain lingering from childhood, as he suspected, he would be cruel for bringing it to her mind.

He looked down at the man on the bed, lost in his unnatural sleep. They were kindred hearts after a fashion, because the love he bore Sparrow had to likewise be kept silent. Still, at least he and the pirate could take comfort in each other –

_Which they will not longer have the chance to do if you don’t go about your business, O’Connor,_ he told himself sternly. Pining for a woman who was incapable of looking at him as anything other than a brother in arms would not help matters.

The herbs were already burning, their sickly-sweet aroma permeating the room. He shook his head to clear the haze from it. He had to say the incantation before he could let the mild trance take him over. The Latin was a blurry mess on the page, but he managed to get through it without any mishaps. Gratefully he slid the book closed and laid it aside. Closing his eyes, he reached out to take the commodore’s hand.

 

Claire was unnerved by the depths in Sparrow’s dark eyes. He looked like ice about to crack, and she didn't want to be around for the explosion.

She watched him with most of her attention and thought about the other two only in passing. The man was tall and broad-shouldered, with the hands of a laborer but the dignified carriage of a master craftsman. If there was time, she wanted to take a look at his finished weapons. He seemed like a sturdy fellow, and he certainly wasn't pleased with mystical troubles in his house. There was a temper lurking beneath his control, however, and the sense that he was not so long out of youth as he wanted people to think.

The woman had a clever face and the airborne chin of society. Claire got the impression that the two of them would either quarrel like she-cats or get on splendidly. She didn't plan on sticking around long enough to find out which it would be. They seemed like decent enough people, but decent people were not her primary concern. 

She had no idea what the bewitched commodore was like, though anyone had to have their feet planted solidly on the ground if they dealt with Jack Sparrow on a regular basis. He was exhausting enough in conversation; she couldn't even imagine what it would be like to bed him. 

Frankly, she was glad to be free of that sort of complication in her life. Love was clearly more trouble than it was worth, even for those average folk who didn't tend to die violently before they hit twenty-five.

O’Connor hated it when she spoke so casually of her own mortality. For all the horrors he had seen, he was still odd about some things. He was a creature of habit, and she supposed he wasn't looking forward to the day when he’d have to learn all the quirks and habits of a new slayer.

The silence was making the Turners uncomfortable, Will more so than Elizabeth, although it didn't bother Claire, and Sparrow might as well have been a fly on the wall for all the attention he paid the rest.

“So,” said Will, clearing his throat, “how has...business gone of late, Jack?”

“Yes,” said Elizabeth, sounding relieved that her husband had stumbled upon a topic of conversation, “we haven’t exactly had the chance to catch up.”

He didn't take his eyes from the closed door as he spoke. “Well enough.”

Elizabeth and Will exchanged frustrated looks before turning to Claire. _Oh, bugger,_ she thought with an internal wince.

Again, it was Will who made the first blundering attempt at breaking the ice. “Claire – lovely name, if I may be so bold – how long have you been, ah, slaying?”

“Five years,” she replied in a flat tone she hoped would discourage any further questioning. She could hear Aiden’s soft voice start to chant in the next room.

“Do you do a great deal of traveling?” Elizabeth asked, leaning forward, her sharp eyes intent. “What sorts of places have you seen?”

“Oh,” said Claire, “we've been...around. Throughout Europe, mostly,” she added, a bit flattered by the interest lighting the other woman’s face. “And India, some ports in that region...” She fluttered her fingertips in the vague shapes of islands and continents. O’Connor was the one who plotted their courses; she was terrible at geography. Before she could embarrass herself further, a loud cry and a thunderous boom issued from beyond the door.

The four of them collided in their haste to get through the narrow doorway. Having the greatest momentum, Jack managed to be the first inside, but Claire hurtled past him when she caught sight of the interior.

Her watcher was collapsed on the floor, the armchair on its side nearby. She fell to her knees and pulled his head onto her lap. He was breathing, but his eyes were closed and his skin had a grayish tint.

She pressed one hand to her mouth to stem the sudden urge to vomit. Biting her knuckles hard enough to bring tears to her eyes, she glared when Will got too close.

“Don’t crowd him!” she snapped. No matter how many deep breaths she took, her heart refused to slow down, and she still felt like all the air was being squeezed from her lungs.

She touched Aiden’s cheek gently, lacing the fingers of her other hand through his. “Wake up,” she said thickly. “Wake _up_ , damn you!” He still didn't move, and she felt a piercing pain in her throat as she cried, “ _O'Connor!_ ”

His eyes snapped open and he gasped, then coughed. Will and Elizabeth heaved audible sighs of relief. Jack, meanwhile, glanced up from where he was perched on the bed, tracing lines on Norrington’s palm. “It didn't work. Nothing changed.” 

Claire felt her eyes would burn out of her skull with the blaze of the look she gave him.

“Ah, Claire?” Aiden propped himself up on one elbow, smiling weakly at her. “You’re crushing my hand.”

She looked down, saw the white-edged strength of her grip and how his skin turned an angry red when she released him. “Sorry,” she whispered, alarmed to find her hands trembling. What the devil was wrong with her?

Aiden studied her face, his eyes narrowed with concern. “Are you all right?”

She almost laughed aloud. Here he’d practically died in the middle of a spell, and he was asking after her welfare.

On second thought...that wasn't funny at all.

 

She slipped away just as it was returning, slipped out in time to see the watcher still falling. Knowing she could not be seen in this world even if she wished it, she planted herself in a corner of the room. It was possible they’d be able to feel her if she got too close, though they would dismiss it as a mere chill. In addition, she could pretend the wall offered some kind of support. It was tiring being away from the ship for this long.

Her heart leapt at the sight of Jack, but of course he took no notice. His eyes slid past the supine watcher to land on James. The disappointment on his face was painful to witness, as was the tenderness with which he touched the sleeping man’s hand. 

The slayer’s fear caught her attention. The girl was desperate with it, frightened by its strength, confused about its source. Her relief when she managed to rouse her watcher was a wave of warmth breaking across the room. Such power, and yet she had no notion of what she felt. It was a pitiable state of affairs for them both, because he looked upon her with the same love she was trying so hard to deny. Humans were odd creatures indeed.

“What happened?” Catching the blacksmith’s scent of embers, she made a face.

Aiden raised a hand to his pale face, rubbing a day’s growth of beard. He looked like he’d seen much worse than a ghost. “I was...forcibly expelled, you might say.”

“By what?” Jack pressed him, eyes alight. “From where? Was James with you?”

Claire shot him a venomous glower – _best keep your anger in check with that one, little girl_ – as Aiden leaned over to cough some more. Elizabeth came close, fetching a glass of water from the bedside table. She was agitated; didn't like to be unsure of her footing or out of her element. Straightening, she paused to narrow her eyes at not quite the right spot. Close, though – it wasn't surprising that she would remember the last time they’d met. In any case, she shrugged and turned, handing Aiden the glass.

“Thank you,” he said after drinking deeply. Jack had fallen silent, although his foot was jiggling impatiently. Claire was sitting with her knees drawn up, arms wrapped around her legs, making quite a point of not touching the man beside her.

“It’s –” Aiden took a deep breath, apprehensive. “It’s more complicated than I’d suspected.”

Jack opened his mouth again. Will trod on his foot. Normally she would have been outraged, but privately she agreed with the lad.

“I couldn't reach the commodore,” Aiden continued. “Something is in possession of his soul, or his mind if you prefer, and guarding him very closely.”

“Something?” Elizabeth said skeptically.

Claire gnawed on her bottom lip. “Something I’d know?”

He met her eyes squarely. “Remember Nevis?”

“You aren't serious.” All the color drained from her face. 

“I know Nevis – a stone’s throw from St. Kitts. What’s it got t’ do with anything?” Jack demanded.

“It was two years ago. There was something similar going on when we visited. A woman had been taken by a particular breed of demon that must leech all its captive’s strength to live, as well as become corporeal. The woman died after four days and the thing came into being.”

“And you what, exactly – sat around and watched?” Responding to the quickly sinking hope in the room, Elizabeth spoke harshly.

“Hardly,” said Claire in a cold voice. “We tried to reach her without harming her. It didn't work.”

“And what happened when the – the _demon_ rose?” Will worked the word in his mouth carefully, disliking its taste.

Aiden and Claire exchanged a look. “An earthquake happened,” he said.

“Tidal wave swept it out to sea and killed it,” Claire added. Her jaw tightened. “I couldn't.”

Elizabeth cleared her throat. “Well, that’s a start, then. What have we got to do to get James free of this thing?”

For a long moment, neither spoke. Aiden would not raise his eyes from the floor. Jack had gone back to his studious observation of James’s inert face.

Finally Claire rose to her feet, visibly composed herself, and said, “We have to kill him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note 1: Aiden wanting to be a cobbler is a reference to the original "Buffy" movie - "I would have made a wonderful boot-maker."
> 
> Note 2: BtVS will recognize the closing line from the fifth season arc.
> 
> Note 3: The earthquake in Nevis is inspired by a historical earthquake that pretty much destroyed the original British settlement in 1680. There's also a reference in BtVS S3 to an earthquake killing a powerful demon after it manifested.


	8. Chapter 8

_“Would someone send word?”_

_“What’s ‘at?”_

_“If – if something were to happen, I might not know it.”_

_“James, do tell a man what you’re on about.”_

_“Well, I wouldn't know for sure, not unless I was told – Elizabeth agrees, we discussed it once.”_

_“...Oh. Right.”_

_“If enough time passed, I suppose it would be safe to assume...but then again, not really, because for all I’d know you could simply grow weary of m – of your connections to Port Royal.”_

_“Jamie –”_

_“Don’t. Just – just promise me that we would get word, one way or another.”_

_“Aye...aye, somebody would make sure you knew. I swear t’ it.”_

_“Good. For God’s sake, Jack, stop looking at me like that. I’m simply being practical.”_

_“This better?”_

_“Much.”_

_“Then stop brooding and come ‘ere so I can wish you a proper happy birthday.”_

It was the closest they’d ever come to talking about what likely end might come. Jack knew now how one-sided the conversation had been, the foolish trust or perhaps denial on his end, and he was sorry for it.

Becoming aware of the others again, he realized they were shouting. The last time he’d seen Elizabeth this righteously angry she’d been burning his rum; for Will, it had been an oar connecting with his skull. Claire’s hackles were raised in defense against both of them.

“How can you even suggest such a thing?”

“It would be murder, plain and –”

“No, it would be mercy, believe me – for him and for this whole town. It will kill him anyway, as painfully as it can, and once it manifests, there’s no end to the damage it will –”

“I won’t hear another word, you cold-hearted savage!” Elizabeth’s voice rose until he imagined he could hear the walls rattling. Aiden winced and clutched his head. “James is not some soulless creature you can hack to bits – he’s our _friend_!”

Claire had fury to meet her, although her voice was a much lower snarl. “And I haven’t the luxury of being swayed by that. This decision is _my_ responsibility – it is _what I do_ –”

“Please attempt to calm down, both of you,” said the watcher, massaging his temples.

Will spun around, brown eyes blazing like the very heart of his forge. “Surely you've got something to say about this nonsense, Jack!”

A few strands of dark hair had fallen across James’s brow. Jack reached up to tuck them back, curving his hand along the shell of one ear. “Oh, not particularly,” he said in an easy voice. Ignoring muffled sounds of surprise and outrage, he let the full weight of his gaze rest on the slayer, untempered by mirth or charm. “Just a friendly heads-up, lady Claire: touch ‘im and you’ll have to restrict your slaying to the deep-sea monsters.” He grinned, deliberately flashing his teeth. “Savvy?”

It took only a few seconds for her eyes to drop to the floor.

“I am going to check on the baby,” Elizabeth announced stridently, breaking the oppressive silence. She leaned close to Will, whispering something in his ear. He nodded and kissed her cheek before fixing his hard gaze on the slayer.

Any other girl, Jack knew, would be on the verge of tears right now. She merely scowled and fidgeted with a button on her shirt.

“If we may have a word?” Aiden said to her, offering his arm. She stalked past him to the hallway, slamming the door back on its hinges. He closed it quietly behind them.

Will heaved a giant, exhausted sigh and plopped himself down in the chair, Jack having adopted the edge of the bed as his seat.

“This is too much for me,” the boy muttered, rubbing at his eyes.

“Don't be daft,” said Jack briskly, resettling the quilt across James’s chest. “You broke an ancient heathen curse, din’t you?” Will offered him a wan smile. “Where is my godson, anyway?

“With James’ housekeeper,” said Will. “We told her he was ill and that he couldn't be moved. Jack, he –” Will shook his head, eyes bleak. “I was never frightened like that in my life, not by Barbossa or his pirates – because it was _James_. And yet it wasn't. That didn't make any sense, did it? I stopped making sense hours ago.”

Jack nudged his leg with one foot. “You don’t make sense all that often, lad.”

“You're one to talk,” said Will, raising an eyebrow.

Jack smiled. “Touché.” They fell silent as the argument outside the door abruptly rose in volume.

“You _know_ I’m right, Aiden – I thought I could count on you!”

“Of course you can, but in this case, I think we should wait and see –”

“And how many people will die because you couldn't do what had to be done? God, don’t you remember the screams of those poor people? They were _lucky_ to die in that earthquake instead of the alternative.”

“You are too quick to act, Claire, and too quick to judge – you always have been.”

“Maybe so, but this time I've no choice – can’t you see that?”

“All I see is a slayer disregarding her watcher’s orders!”

Complete silence. Jack and Will looked at each other, feeling the temperature drop. When she spoke at last, Claire’s voice could have frozen Hell.

“My apologies, O’Connor. You may have my submission, but I hope you realize that your soft heart will be the death of you someday.”

“Claire, I –”

“You’re a smart man. You should realize that it is not in your best interest right now to try and touch me.”

Jack coughed abrasively. “So, whelp, you been keepin’ up with your swordplay in the midst of all the connubial bliss?”

“Certainly.” Will’s voice was also a bit too loud, his eyes flicking over to the door as it opened. “I don’t have as much free time, but my skills haven’t rusted yet, I can assure you.”

Claire came back into the room, arms crossed beneath her breasts. Aiden followed her a beat behind, his head hanging low. If Jack had ever before seen a man so thoroughly beaten, he couldn't remember it. Old mangy dogs that got kicked every day cringed less than the watcher was cringing now.

“So what do we do?” Will inquired tentatively, trying to feel out the dynamic between watcher and slayer.

A muscle twitched in Claire’s cheek. It was Aiden who said, “Well, we wait, I suppose. I need to look at some texts in my trunk aboard the ship – there might be useful information there on splitting souls. I got the strangest sense of the thing, you see – it felt incomplete, as though powerful as it is, it has lost some part of itself along the way.”

“Ridiculous,” Claire muttered, barely audible.

“You can get Theo t’ take you back,” said Jack, recognizing the gleam in Aiden’s eyes. He was liable to keep explaining and working out his own thoughts on poor hapless bystanders unless he was stopped. “”I’ll not be leaving.”

Aiden nodded, taking a deep breath before he glanced sideways at Claire. “Are you...?”

“So, Turner, I understand your weapons are beyond compare in this part of the Indies.” She treated Aiden with a good view of her back, standing just this side of too close to Will. Jack winced on the watcher’s behalf, but aside from the way hope floundered in his eyes, he showed no reaction.

They went their separate ways, Aiden to the sitting room below where the lieutenants were anxiously awaiting news, Claire and Will to the smithy. Jack stood at the bedroom door, listening to the house grow still in the wake of departure, then went to sit by James’s side once again.

“‘Ey,” he said softly. “Just me an’ you now, love. Please feel free to wake up.” A beat, during which he imagined the hand in his own twitched. “Any moment now.” 

He frowned down at the commodore. “Well, now, that sort of churlishness is simply uncalled for.” Guilt at his own flippancy struck him, and he leaned down to kiss James on his cold cheek. “Forgive me, I’m talking rubbish.”

_As usual._

Jack started, half-convinced he had really heard that dryly amused voice. James’s face began to blur and waver in his vision. He blinked water from his eyes and tugged on a beaded lock of hair. How long had he been here? All the others had come and gone by turns, but Jack had scarcely moved from this spot for longer than he cared to think. It might have been a few hours; it might have been forever.

Darkness threatened to encroach upon him and he jerked himself alert. 

“Look what you done t’ me,” he accused James. “Can’t both be slumbering away, not now. Truth is, Jamie, there’s nothing I’d like better than following wherever you’ve gone. But I can’t – won’t. Stubborn as you are, I’m determined to match you. I’m here, an' here I’ll stay.” Skimming fingertips up and down the blue vein in James’s arm, he willed life back into the heavy limb. “‘F an anchor’s what you need, just...” His hand curled reflexively around James’s wrist. “Just...hold...on...”

His chin dropped into his chest, and he slept.


	9. Chapter 9

She watched Jack lose his battle with exhaustion, still clinging to James, and she composed herself as quickly as she could. Her plan was a good one, but it wouldn't even get afloat if she were without help. Having been solitary for so long, she found it almost amusing that she was now caught in such a complicated web – needing Jack most of all, needing James because _he_ did, James needing their help for his very survival. Right now, she needed Jack’s full attention.

In sleep, he was sunk in despair. Attitudes that buoyed him in life – assuredness and simple refusal to accept that things could change for the better at any given moment, that it could really end like this – deserted him while he was adrift in his own unconscious mind. Normally she enjoyed wandering around in Jack’s dreams, but now there were no interesting landscapes for him to explore, no enemies to vanquish, no puzzles to work out. He couldn't even bring himself to speak when she went to him and drew his head onto her shoulder.

“Shhh, my love,” she murmured, laying her palm against the trapped flutterings of his heart. With her other hand she framed his gilded cheek. “Listen to me, Jack.” When he tried to turn away, grief weighing heavy in his eyes, her grip tightened. “This is important, do you understand?”

“Aye,” he replied, quiescent for once in his life. A selfish part of her was pleased that she could have this effect on him even now. Barbossa had never once listened to her, no matter how she pleaded or threatened. 

“Bring your commodore to me,” she told Jack, holding him steady. “We can’t make a stand on this dry earth.” He merely blinked back at her, concentration wavering, and she gripped him still tighter. “I know it will be difficult for you to remember this when you wake – damn nigh impossible – but you _must_ , however you can.”

Closing his eyes, Jack sucked his lower lip between his teeth. “Remember, remember,” he murmured.

“Yes, that’s it,” she said, pressing her face to his, her mouth against his ear. “All tides go out, Jack. Everything comes back to the sea. _Remember_.” She went on, whispering instructions to him, while he caught her about the waist and bobbed his head in compliance. Eventually she had to let go, leaving him muttering her words as she bled through the curtain between awake and asleep.

To her annoyance, Jack didn't follow. She paced until Elizabeth returned. The girl, seeing Jack slumped over in the chair, shut the door quietly and tiptoed over to him.

She groaned in frustration. He would have ample opportunity for rest once all this was over, but for now she needed him on his feet.

Fortunately Jack was a light sleeper, although Elizabeth tried to be unobtrusive as she transferred his arm to his lap. He squinted at her, confused.

“I didn't mean to disturb you,” Elizabeth said. “You ought to go back to sleep.”

Jack ran his fingers through his hair, or at least made an attempt. “No.” He shook his head like a dog shaking off water. “No, ’m awake.”

“Jack,” Elizabeth scolded gently, “you’ll do him no good by wearing yourself out.”

That was true; there was only one way to do him good. She waited, attention focused on Jack.

For a moment she feared she’d be waiting a long time, because he didn't look anything but tired. Then he frowned, cocking his head as if listening to a voice only he could hear.

_Yes, yes,_ yes – _remember me..._

Jack’s face twisted with the effort and he scratched beneath his head-scarf. Elizabeth noticed and laid a hand on his shoulder. “Jack?"

“Somethin’...important,” he murmured, pressing his knuckles to his chin. “Damn, I know it’s there...”

“What’s there, Jack?” Elizabeth spoke with a thread of fear. Understandable; he looked more than a bit mad, eyes wide and bloodshot, tugging on his braided beard.

“Just – stand still for a moment, Lizzie, an’ let me think.” She obeyed, watching apprehensively and jumping, startled, as he suddenly thumped his fist on the bed. “Tides. Tides go out. _That’s_ it.”

Elizabeth backed away as he stood up and started pacing. “I’m sorry?”

“Where’s Will and Claire? Back yet?”

“We’re here,” Will called from the hallway. He and Claire entered, exchanging a puzzled glance with Elizabeth, who could only shrug at Jack’s strange behavior.

She couldn't bring herself to hope just yet. He hadn't really shown that he understood.

Jack came to an abrupt stop in front of Will. “Good,” he said shortly. “You get his feet, I’ll get his arms. Elizabeth, we’ll need a loan of your father’s carriage.”

“What on earth do you mean to do with it?” Elizabeth wanted to know. “And what’s this about moving James?”

“To th’ _Pearl_ ,” said Jack, grabbing his hat from the bedside table and jamming it over his head. “We are taking James aboard the _Black Pearl_.”

Relief and a fresh wave of adoration swept over her. Even under circumstances such as these, he was still her clever, fey Jack, and he trusted to his own instincts above all else – that and the sea.

Still, she had no cause for relaxing just yet. Getting the man there was only the beginning of the struggle. 

 

“Well, James,” said Jack, a mocking glint in his eyes, “s’ppose it’s time we see who’s t’ come top.” His eyes traveled down the commodore’s body in lewd suggestion, and James shuddered. He glanced around; the men had backed off as he’d asked, though they were ready to step in if need be, and he and Jack were standing close enough that their low voices wouldn't be heard.

“Tell me one thing first,” he said, swallowing bile. Jack twitched his eyebrows in a ‘go on’ motion. “Was this what you meant from the start?”

Jack pursed his lips thoughtfully, ignoring the fresh streaks of blood down his chin from the blow James had managed to land. “To be perfectly honest with you, Jamie, no.” He grinned cruelly at James’s distaste for the diminutive, both of them remembering well how many times his voice had cracked with passion on that one word. “I’d planned to run you around for awhile yet, keep you fooled, maybe get meself a letter of marque in the bargain. I like this cease-fire with your boys too much to see it ended. But that English beauty, well, she was a rich prize, mate. All the fancy folk aboard, the wealth o’ spices – how could I pass that up, eh?”

“And the treatment of the passengers –” He paused, the scent of scorched flesh still heavy in his nostrils. “Was that your standard procedure, kept quiet for these two years?”

Jack shook his head, setting his trinkets to jingling. The emerald James had given him flashed in the sunlight. “Partly, but you might say I paid ‘em some extra attention for your benefit.” His laugh was genuine, light and easy, a sound that had once made James glad just to hear it. Now it only hardened his heart and turned his stomach.

He had worried more than once about a situation like this, wondering if he would have the courage to do what was right, wondering if he even knew what right was. Now he had no more questions about right and wrong, and no doubt whatsoever about his ability to run the pirate through

It wasn't so easy as that, of course; Jack was adept with a sword, agile and quick and utilizing techniques from God only knew where. They were both sweating, Turner blades slippery in their hands, by the time James managed to find a chink in Jack’s defense. He parried Jack’s thrust with force enough to knock his arm aside, and plunged his sword into the other man’s belly.

Jack let out a small ‘oof,’ swaying backward but staying upright. James would not do him the satisfaction of looking away from his astonishment and pain.

“Now we know, don’t we,” he murmured. The weathered hilt slipped through James’ fingers to the deck. He didn't notice. He was searching for some hint, some sign that the man for whom he had lost himself had been more than a farce.

And he found it. Even as Jack’s dark eyes began to grow dim, he tried to smile, crimson slipping past his lips. “I did love you, Jamie, in me own way.”

“And I you, Jack,” James whispered.

Before Jack could fall to the relatively quick death James had given him, he had one last surprise. Through some inexplicable vestige of strength and will, he raised his left arm with the dagger hidden beneath his sleeve. Although his strike was weak, his aim was true; it did not take a powerful drive to send the point through James’ heart.

About to cheer over their commander’s victory, the assembled sailors cried out in alarm and darted forward. James fell, watching Jack do the same, gone before he hit the deck. He was aware of many faces blocking the light. _Should have let the bastard hang,_ he thought, and then there was no more light to block.

Bringing his hand to his heart, James was distantly surprised to find it warm and beating, albeit far too rapidly. 

“Now that was downright poetic,” it purred. “Bravo. The players would weep at the chance to play your parts, if they could ever know the whole story.”

He had promised her that he would be strong, but he could feel himself starting to slip. If only there was not such a wealth of material, if there were not so very many ways for things to go wrong. It would be one thing if an end was in sight, but he was quite certain that it could go on rearranging the pieces of James’s life for eternity. And she had not shown up again, with words of encouragement or the sight of Jack holding vigil over him.

How quickly would he notice if the breath simply stopped coming to that body? It was already nearly lifeless; Jack must have considered the possibility that James might not wake up. He might not admit it in a thousand years, but in his heart he must know how slim the chance was.

_You faithless, ungrateful clod._ His head whipped around, but she was nowhere in sight. It was only her voice echoing in his ears, low and waspish. _You know very well he’d never give up on you. Honestly, what have I got to do to make you silly people believe in each other?_

He started to speak, to mumble an apology

_Don’t do something so stupid as acknowledge me, James! He doesn't know I’m here, and he doesn't know where we are taking you, and I would really prefer to keep it that way, savvy? Now you buck up, young man, because I don’t have time to keep nipping off to bolster your spirits. Just remember, when it happens: don’t be afraid. That’s the most important thing, James. You are not to fear him, or me, or Jack, or yourself._

When she departed it was no clearer than when she had arrived, yet somehow James was aware of it. He didn't know how much time had actually passed, or indeed what she had meant by half of what she’d said.

“What now?” it said thoughtfully. “There are so many wonderful things I can show you, Commodore.”

He must not be afraid, she had said, and also not to show any sign of rebellion. So he huddled in the dust, clutching his face, and he kept his fresh hope closely guarded.

 

“But Cap’n, it’s madness!”

“I will be the judge of that, Mr. Gibbs,” said Jack, fixing his quartermaster with a stern eye.

Anamaria wrung her hat in both hands, dark hair whipping about in the gust of wind. “The ship’ll be torn apart, and us lost t’ the deep!” she snapped.

“No.” The strange calm Jack felt flooded his voice. He should have been taut with panic, at the onset of a storm rumbling on the horizon and his own orders that all souls take refuge in the hold. Instead he was busy tying himself to the wheel, using the rope left over from lashing James to the other side of the helm. He got the impression that she hadn't intended him to watch the proceedings, but he didn't mean to leave James now. There was no telling how confused and frightened he’d be when he woke; he deserved Jack there as the first thing he saw.

If it didn't work, and he didn't open his eyes...well, then at least the last thing he felt would be Jack’s body close by.

“Jack, we ain’t gonna agree t’ this,” said Gibbs, grabbing Jack’s wrists in his large hands to still him.

Jack looked into the weathered, worried face of the man he was proud to call friend, and he said, “Joshamee, if you have ever trusted me b’fore, I’m asking you to trust me now.”

Gibbs studied him for a moment, eyes narrowing against the early fall of rain. Finally his jaw clenched and he released Jack, shaking his head. “I’ma fool fer trustin’ ye in the first place, Jack Sparrow, but damned ‘f I’m gonna stop now. C’mon, Ana, we’d best go settle the men down.”

The woman glared at Jack. “‘F you get us killed ‘fore you give me the ship I’m owed, I will hound you till kingdom come.” She stalked off after Gibbs, muttering under her breath.

Jack grinned, tugging at the rope around his waist. “Got me a good crew this time around, James,” he called over the rising gale. “‘Twould be a shame if I steered ‘em wrong.”

Before he tied his arm down, he reached behind his head to touch James’s cheek, his brow, his lips. “I hope she’s right,” he said softly. “I’ll answer for this if she isn't.”

He withdrew his hand, letting James’s head settle back into its droop, and stretched his bound arm to pull the last knot tight. 

 

She was quite insulted to hear Jack’s words of doubt. Rash though she could be, it wasn't as if she hadn't thought this through.

She just wasn't entirely sure it would work.

He was surprised to see her, although he labored to hide it. James was balled up on the ground, head buried in his hands. “Changed your mind and come to join me, dear one?”

“I’m afraid not, precious,” she replied, simpering at him.

He clucked in disappointment, lifting an eyebrow. “Too bad. I would much rather have preferred to see you at my side than at my mercy. Your funny little Sparrow would have made a lovely conduit for you, or that slayer who’ll be dead before the year is out.”

She ignored his self-satisfied preening. “I think I've had enough of your gabble. It’s high time we settled this.”

 

Aiden ran his thumb over the small collection of books in the Turners’ sitting room. Most of them were inscribed with ‘Elizabeth Anne Swann’ and various dates in an elegant if hasty hand. Some bore her married name, and a few Will’s bolder, more precise scrawl.

“I can’t stand this waiting,” said Claire in an aggrieved tone. “It’s going to drive me mad.”

“I do wish you would stop walking in circles,” Aiden replied, abandoning the bookshelf to lower himself onto a sofa with a sigh. “You’re making me dizzy.”

To his surprise, she halted mid-stride. Avoiding his eyes, she picked her way over and sat next to him. He was pleased that his harsh words had apparently been forgiven, even if he couldn't fathom why. Claire was infamous for holding grudges. The last time they were in Vienna, she had gone ten days without saying a single word. He couldn't remember what particular infraction had prompted the treatment.

“How can they all stand it?” Claire asked.

“You mean the Turners, and the lieutenants?” At her nod, he shrugged. “There are ways of coping.”

Claire snorted, having a good guess as to how the Turners dealt with their anxiety, and probably Gillette and Groves too. The two men had left earlier, worried and upset, and he sincerely doubted they had gone to their separate homes. Will and Elizabeth had retrieved young Billy from Norrington’s house. After Aiden complimented the handsome child (and Claire treated him as a menace more frightening than any demon she’d faced), they had put him to bed and retired themselves. Claire and Aiden had taken a brief stroll down the street, leery of catching any errant noises from the second floor. There was only silence when they returned, as well as a few blankets left out for them. 

Now she sat stiffly beside him and clasped her hands together, saying, “I hate feeling as though I haven’t any control.”

“I know,” he said, not without sympathy. “It’s your nature to desire control over a situation.”

“Not just situations. My – my own feelings, too.”

Aiden looked at her sharply. Her gaze was leveled down at her feet. He watched her toes curl in the thick rug, and realization dealt him a heart-stopping blow.

“Claire?” he said cautiously, hardly daring to hope.

“It’s never going to be like this, you know,” she said, indicating the interior of the room with one nervous hand. “And I can’t promise I won’t be unhappy, won’t change my mind if I think we aren't doing the right thing.”

He closed his eyes, reaching blindly for her hand. “I can live with that.” When he felt composed enough to look at her again, he found her staring at him with desperate, searching eyes, her hands poised to touch his face.

“Aiden,” she breathed, sounding hesitant. He leaned down to press his mouth to hers, stalling any further attempts to think better of this. He was sworn to guide and protect her, and if that meant guiding her into unfamiliar territory and protecting her from her own groundless fears about what she meant to him, then he would fulfill his duty to the utmost.

 

“Do you remember the day of your promotion to acting lieutenant?” Theodore laughed softly, puffing air against Andrew’s neck. “James gave you that bottle of champagne in celebration, and you dropped it on the deck and ruined his shoes.”

Andrew sat half-upright, pushing at the arms encircling him. “Don’t,” he said heatedly. “Don’t talk about him as if he’s gone.”

“All right,” said Theodore, soothing him with hands rubbing his back, lips against his jaw. “I’m sorry, love, I am.”

Andrew shuddered once, drawing a deep breath, and tucked himself back against his lover’s side. “Besides, it was only his stockings that were ruined, and I bought him a new pair.”

 

James couldn't quite tell what was going on, not in terms of seeing it or hearing it. All he had was a feeling in his gut, like he was being tugged in two different directions and he was bound to split. He wondered if this was what it would be like to have a limb amputated, or to be confined to land for the rest of his days, or to lose the parts of himself that were bound up in Jack.

He wondered if Jack had felt like this when he lost her, and vice versa.

_Don’t be afraid,_ he heard, and _You are a fine man, James,_ and _It has been an honor serving under your command, sir,_ and _Port Royal is the better for your outstanding example,_ and _As a boy, I wanted nothing more than to be like you._

He found the voice most dear and the words he would want to hear, right at this very moment, and he clung to it.

_Don’t let go._

 

The storm raged on.

Jack tried not to care which way the wind blew them. She had called up this storm; it was up to her to see them all through it. If she did, he would have been in her debt for the rest of his life, were the two of them not far beyond debts.

The stinging rain and occasional wave swept over the side made him keep his eyes closed tight. He twisted one hand in its constraints until he could find a mate for it.

He thought he heard James groan behind him, but it might have been the battered timber all around them.

 

“How are you...” He was almost too dumbfounded to be angry. More importantly, he was weakening. “How are you doing this?”

She pressed harder, searching for rough patches. “I told you, brother, that I had power at my disposal.” Knowing he shrank from the earthly storm, she grinned impishly. “That’ll teach you to be cocky, won’t it?”

“You can’t destroy me, not completely,” he snarled, retreating yet further from her advances. “We were the same, long ago, and one cannot exist without the other.”

“I’m well aware of that, and I’m not interested in destroying you, not once I've made sure you won’t be able to harm these people again. All I want is the man.” She let her voice rise to a shout, commanding him. “Give him to me!”

“No!” He cried out at the strain of his continued resistance.

She sighed. Stubborn to the last, but then, it was a trait that seemed to attract itself. “Then I shall take him.” 

_Apologies, James,_ she thought in his general direction. _Jack will make it up to you, I promise._

Reaching for him, she _pulled_.

 

Jack made an effort to mind his own business, but in the end he couldn’t keep himself from looking to see what damage was being done, and if the end was in sight.

He opened his eyes, raised his head, and saw the belaying pin coming straight for him.

“Bugger,” he managed to say, before it landed solidly on his head.

 

James screamed at the agony surpassing all of what had come before. Water ran into his mouth, choking him. He coughed raggedly, wishing he could free his arms so that he could bend over properly. His body ached, the swollen ropes cutting into his skin –

Ropes. Ropes, and the taste of saltwater, and the chill of being soaked to the bone, and solid wood beneath his shoes, and –

Jack’s hand in his own.

He craned his neck, seeing a dark mane at the edges of his vision. “Jack?” The fingers in his grip were limp, and Jack did not stir upon hearing his name. Not being able to see him, James squeezed his hand.

“Hello?” he called to the silent ship, now rocking gently on a placid sea. “Is there anyone here?”

He heard the creak of a hatch being opened, but couldn't see the stocky, middle-aged man until he’d come around the helm.

“Good t’ see ye again, Commodore,” said Joshamee Gibbs.

 

Will didn't sleep well when it rained, much less during a violent storm. Elizabeth took great care in comforting him, kneading the tension from his shoulders, until he finally drifted off with an arm slung across her. When she tried to do the same, she found herself staring at the ceiling overheard, beset by worry.

She was still awake when the storm broke, bringing with it that eerie post-apocalyptic calm. It was over, one way or another.

Listening to the patter of the last of the rain, she knew there was no way to know what had happened, not until the _Pearl_ returned.

Nevertheless, when she came back to bed after looking in on Billy, she draped herself over Will’s muscled back and immediately fell asleep.

 

In the end she didn't destroy him; he had been right about that.

But once she pulled James free, she didn't worry about him, either. 

She was too tired to feel much, though she did look fondly on the sight of James lowering Jack to his bunk. Jack turned to him, seeking warmth, and James hesitated a moment before he slipped beneath the covers. Mindful of Jack’s bandaged head, he sank back into the pillows and held him close.

_Good boys,_ she thought, surrendering to a yawn.

He was there when she nestled against Jack, although not completely. He hovered between sleep and awake, needing genuine rest but afraid of losing touch again. She waited until she could feel him on the fringes of their embrace.

Lifting her head from Jack’s shoulder, she crooked a finger at him. Slowly, his arms went around them both.

“James,” Jack murmured drowsily. Their fingers laced together at the small of her back, James’ hand over Jack’s.

The three of them were content to lie still, wrapped up together in the scent of the sea.

 

“Oh good, you’re awake.”

“Shouldn't I be tellin’ you that?” Raising himself up on one elbow, Jack winced at the throbbing pain in his head.

James smiled that sweet, secret smile at him, perching on the edge of the bunk. “How are you feeling?”

“Again I say, other way ‘round,” Jack retorted, poking him in the thigh.

“I’m fine,” he said, nudging Jack aside so that he could stretch out next to him. Jack climbed halfway on top of him without delay, delighting in the rumble of a laugh beneath his cheek. “Though not for lack of trying.”

“And the others? They were worried ‘bout you too, y’know.”

James traced the pattern of scars on his back. “I've spoken with them. Claire and Aiden are...interesting, aren't they? They’re all extremely relieved to find us both in one piece – well, more or less,” he amended, gingerly touching Jack’s bandage. The lump beneath it had stopped bleeding quickly, though it was swollen to the size of an egg and throbbed now and then.

Somehow, when James was gazing down at him like that, he couldn't find it in himself to care about the pain.

“I could never repay what you've done for me,” he said in a low, earnest voice.

Jack tugged on his earlobe. “Oh, I can think of only one thing that would satisfy me.”

“Jack, you’re injured,” James said reproachfully.

“Not that, mate – my, what a deviant mind we have!”

James had the misplaced decency to blush. “What, then?”

Jack raised his head, wanting to look him squarely in the eye. “Love me. For as long as we’re both on this earth.”

“I do, Jack,” James whispered, green eyes burning suspiciously bright before he closed them. “Against all my better judgement, I do love you.”

Deciding that he wouldn't take offense at that judgement comment, Jack kissed a path back to his ear and said into it, “I love you too, you silly prig. Just in case ‘s not obvious already, or you’re fool enough t’ doubt it.” And to make the message perfectly clear, he proceeded to kiss him into a state of insensible bliss.

When they broke for air, James reached up to touch the worn, smooth wood above their heads. "“She’s truly beautiful, your _Pearl_.”

“‘Course she is,” said Jack smugly.

_Flattery will get you everywhere, gentleman. How does a nice private beach off the coast sound?_

“Did you hear something?”

“Yeah. You get used t’ it.”


End file.
